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POEMS 



MAlir CAROLINE AND JANE CAMPBELL DENVER. 



3tr)et ©eelen unb cin @cban!e. 



Deux estlons et n'avions qu'un Coiur. 



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Pkinted fob their Bbothek, James W. DBirvTsST' 
By LANGE, little & CO., 
NEW YORK. 
^ 1875. 



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Entered according to Act of Confess, in the rear 1875, by 

JAMES W. DENVER, 
In the oflSce of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 



PREFACE. 



Those who were dear to us, and have died, liye 
for us still in /our remembrances of them — of their 
acts, and words, and thoughts ; and w^hen they have 
written their thoughts, in verse or prose, tliey still 
speak to us by them, and we naturally believe that 
if the thoughts live, so does the soul of which they 
were the outflowings, and that for us, whom they 
loved, to preserve these in permanent form must be 
grateful to them, if, where they are, they know 
what we say and think of them, and whether ive 
forget or remember them. 

The brothers to whom the poems in this book are 
legacies from beloved sisters who have died, dis- 
trusting their own partial judgment, have sub- 
mitted the poems, in manuscript, to one familiar 
with books, and long acquainted with the works of 
the English poets, and upon his opinion have now 
published them. They were written by young 



4 PREFACE. 

Avomen, accustomed to field and forest, and not to 
the city; simple, natural, unaffected, — of affectionate 
natures, vivid imagination, and quick and earnest 
sympathies, — greatly loving Nature ; and their 
poems are reflections of their thoughts, fancies, 
sympathies, and aspirations. 

They are poems of the heart, written for them- 
selves and a small circle, without expectation of 
receiving the praises of the world. They are sim- 
ple and natural, harmonious in rhythm and cadence, 
and without attempt at singularity of expression — 
a skilful adaptation of words used in new senses and 
connections, to startle and surprise ; in which kind 
of word-painting too much of our modern poetry 
consists. ''^Our modern dramatists," a great critic 
has said — and it may be said with the same truth of 
many modern poets who iire not dramatists — '"'ap- 
peal not to Nature or the heart, but — to the readers 
of modern poetry. Words and paper, each couleur 
de rose, are the two requisites of a fashionable 
style." 

If these poems commend themselves to those who 
read them, it will be because they appeal to Nature 
and the heart; because they are the effusions of 
pure, thoughtful, refined intellects, — displaying the 



PREFACE. 5 

traits of cliaracter which made the Authors dear 
to so many hearts. 

II est des ames qui, dans nos sentiers de fange, 
Glissent sans y taclier leur blanclie robe d'ange ; 
Des coeurs qui restent purs quand I'ennui les traverse. 
Qui gardent leur amour dans la fortune adverse. 
L' air vicie du monde en passant autour d'eux 
Se charge de parf ums ; et coninie les flots bleus. 
Sans entrainer un grain de nos terres infames, 
lis coulent en cliantant vers I'ocean des ames. 



September, 1875. 



COI>rTEE"TS. 



In Memoriara 13 

To J. CD 25 

The Burial in tlie Wilderness. 31 

Freedom's Watchword 40 

The Father and his Child 46 

Justinian and Belisarius 50 

The Sword of Wallace 53 

The Siberian Exile 57 

Robert of Normandy 63 

Selkirk's Liberty 70 

Music-drops 77 

Paul I. in the Prison of Kosciusko 79 

Mesouranema 87 

A Night among the Mountains 91 

To Affection 98 

Night-music. ... 100 

The Poet-lover 104 

Louise 108 

Lochabar no more 113 

Affection 117 

Eegrets 119 

Those Eyes 121 

A Sigh 122 

Trials 122 

The Departed 123 

Song : " Give me one smile " 125 

Hope in Adversity 125 



8 CONTENTS. 

In Heaven 127 

The Shadowed Brow 128 

The Spirit of the Year 130 

Ida 132 

The Silent Warrior '. 132 

The Crimson Rose 134 

The Forest Grave 136 

October 138 

Thy Heart is with the Dead 140 

The Songs that my Father used to sing 141 

Where dost thou dwell ? 143 

The Dead Tree in the Forest 144 

A Moonlight Memory 146 

The Bier of Summer 147 

Stars on the Waters 149 

Mourn not the Departed 151 

The Bird of Song 152 

Hark to the low Wind's sighing 153 

The Old Tree : 155 

The United States 157 

Summer wept 160 

The Sunshine falleth on thy Place of Rest 161 

Inquiries 163 

She Passed in her Beauty 165 

To One Unknown 166 

Secret Grief 167 

Spring 168 

The Land of Forgetfulness 169 

Invocation to Poesy 171 

Childlike in thine Innocence 175 

Our Beautiful Tree 178 

Asleep 179 

The Willow Tree 180 

Awav, avvav 183 



CONTENTS. 9 

The Hand that touched the Keys 184 

Comes thy Spirit o'er the Waters 185 

One Drop in the Cup of Memory 186 

Would I were a Poet 189 

Lady of Poland .- 192 

Day-dreams 194 

His Name has Gone Down 195 

I Miss thy light Step, Dearest 195 

The Irish Girl 196 

Sunshine and Shadow 199 

The Evening Star 204 

The Living and the Dead 205 

Give me thy Heart 207 

My Playmates 209 

Heavenly Music .- 212 

The Graves of a Household 213 

Call it not Folly 217 

In Prayer 218 

Italy's Daughter 220 

Celebration-Day 222 

The Messenger-Rose 226 

Burial of Hernando de Soto 229 

Forefathers' Rock 232 

The Forest 236 

The Grandmother 240 

My old Preceptor 244 

The Emigrants' Return 247 

The Cross-road School-honse. 252 

The Stepmother 256 

Selma 259 

The Exile's Sigh 263 

Heaven, to-night 267 

ThePoetess 272 

The Warriors of the Sky 277 

1* 



10 CONTENTS. 

Sixty 283 

Youtli 287 

Age 289 

Virginia .- 290 

Thy Portrait 293 

The Cross and Crown 296 

Twilight 296 

Be strong 298 

Amy DeVere , 299 

The Unbidden Guest 800 

Let By-gones be By-gones 302 

Life's Blessings 303 

Mary 305 

Your Mary and Mine 306 

Willie. . . 308 

The River Echo 310 

Bread cast on the Waters 312 

On the Death of a Friend 314 

Forgive 315 

The Ring-doves -317 

Knud Iverson 320 

She is not dead : She sleepeth 323 

Ministering Spirits 324 

Methought I stood alone 326 

Look down from Heaven 327 

A Thanksgiving 329 

A Morning- walk in June 332 

Man labors for Glory 336 

Lines to an Old Soldier of Napoleon 338 

The Atheist 341 

I would be free 'di% 

Lines for an Album 345 



IN >IEM0RIAM. 



IN MEMORIAM. 

The twin-sisters, Mary Caroline and Jane 
Campbell Denver, were born near Winchester, 
Frederick County, Va., on the 8th of February, 
1821. Their parents sprang from that immigra- 
tion which poured from the north of Ireland into 
Pennsylvania and Virginia during the latter part 
of the eighteenth century; and it was a thought 
which always awakened, in the minds of the sub- 
jects of this sketch, a pardonable pride and enthu- 
siasm, that they had an ancestry to whom "Lib- 
erty was the breath of life." 

The extreme loveliness of the region lying be- 
tween the Blue Ridge on one side, and a spur of 
the Alleghanies on the other — the summits of both 
which could be seen from their home — no doubt 
had its influence on minds naturally open to im- 
pressions and imaginations always strongly excited 
by the grand and beautiful in nature. When they 
were about ten years of age, the family removed to 
a farm near Wilmington, Ohio, but not before these 
Daughters of Song — as they were destined to prove 
— ^had drunk in many an inspiration from the 
lovely valleys, winding streams, and cloud-capped 
mountains of the Old Dominion. These memo- 



14 IN MEM0RIA3f. 

ries, united to an ardent love of their Southern 
home, served as themes for lays of heart-music in 
after years, and to beguile the solitary hours of life 
ii] a comparatively new country. From their fath- 
er (who had been an officer in the war of 1812 — 
retiring immediately after to an agricultural life — 
a man of varied information, enlightened judg- 
ment, and unblemished honor) they inherited a 
passion for reading, and although their educational 
advantages were, in the common acceptation, 
somewhat limited, yet, perhaps they were of the 
best ; for, among the treasures brought from Vir- 
ginia was a fine collection of the works of stand- 
ard authors. History, Politics, Keligion, Poetry, 
Komance, contributed to form these minds and 
tone them to a far higher intelligence than is usu- 
ally found, — especially in a home where ^^no sim- 
plest duty was forgot." It was pleasant, indeed, to 
sit, on a winter's night, round their cheerful fam- 
ily hearthstone, '* with blazing logs piled high," and 
while enjoying the delicious apples and cider, nuts 
and cakes — true country cheer — listen to the genial 
flow of conversation ! The Avell-told tale, the mer- 
ry jest, the ready quotation, the quick repartee, the 
enlivening song, all lent their charm; and many 
there are, who will remember with a sigh — so far 
down time's vista seem these sunny spots in life, 
and so thickly since have shadows intervened — the 
hospitality of that old homestead. Indeed, it was 
proverbial the country round, and often did the 



m IIUJMOBIAM. 15 

walls ring with music and merriment in those 
happy days, when, with family ties unbroken, sick- 
ness infrequent, and death — as all hoped — in the 
far-off future, life seemed almost a pleasure-chase! 
During all this time, though leading lives of active 
usefulness, the sisters, Mary and Jane, found leisure 
to cultivate the poetic talent with which they were 
endowed, — the former commencing to write, at the 
early age of eleven years, a poem commemorative- 
of her regret at leaving the beautiful " Selma," 
round which clustered her most delightful recol- 
lections. From this time until her health failed, 
she wrote rapidly and without effort, as water flows 
from the mountain-spring — because it was her na- 
ture and delight. Her sister began to write some 
years later in life, with less of ease but perhaps 
more vigor of expression, and to both this gift was 
a source of unspeakable happiness. The trees of 
the forest, the " voice of waters," and the " delicate 
indwellings " of their ow^n spirits were their teach- 
ers; and many a song of the affections, many a trib- 
ute to glorious deeds and scenes of liistoric inter- 
est, from their pens, found way into the literary 
periodicals of the day, and Avere always favorably 
received. There was so great a similarity in charac- 
ter between them, that in thought, feeling, pur- 
pose, they were one, and in affection they were 
twin-souls as well as sisters. With no ostentatious 
display of this, — seldom even alluding to the pecu- 
liar tie which united them — yet so did their every 



16 T^^ MEM0KIA3I. 

word and act manifest it, that the prediction was 
often made that one could never survive the other's 
loss. They were truthful, natural, generous, — in- 
tuitively shrinking from all ignoble motives or 
actions. A happy gayety was theirs, although tem- 
pered by a sweet seriousness, as if it were " not all 
of life to live," — and of either it might aptly have 
been said : 

" In her utmost lightness there is truth, and often she 
speaks lightly, — 

And she has a grace in being gay, that even mourners ap- 
prove, 

For the root of some grave earnest thought is understruck 
so lightly 

As to justify the foliage and waving flowers above." 

Their personal resemblance was extraordinary. A 
classic head, dark wavy hair, a pure white brow, 
where goodness sat enthroned, eyes of changeful 
hue, from bluish gray almost to hazel, clearly-cut 
features and sweet smiling mouth, would describe 
either; and often a " Comedy of Errors '' was 
enacted when both were present at some festive 
scene. The following is a laughable illustration of 
this: An admirer of one sister startled the other, 
by a declaration of affection which she knew was 
not intended for her. In vain she endeavored to 
check the ardent wooer. '•' You are certainly mis- 
taken, sir, — it cannot be I to whom you would say 
this, — do you not wish to see my sister ?" "No," 
was the easy reply, " T cannot distinguish you. at any 



ly MEMORIAM. 17 

rate, and it is no matter." The mistake was re- 
ported by the victim himself. 

And now changes gradnally come to the honse- 
hold, — daughters marry — sons go out to battle with 
the world, and it is the '* Old Home" no longer. 
The failure of Jane's health at length, following 
all these changes, produced a saddening effect upon 
her own and her sister's mind, — an indefinable long- 
ing for something they as yet possessed not. They 
began to realize that " The immortal mind craves 
objects that endure." Especially did these things 
weigh upon the mind of Mary, who felt the ap- 
proaching gloom of a great sorrow, and turned 
almost unconsciously for strength to a higher 
power. For, it needed not even love's quick in? 
stincts to detect, in the wasting strength, the un- 
natural brightness of the eye, the hectic cheek and 
the hollow cough Avhich had fastened upon her 
loved one, that they must part erewhile. Alas! 
what sure premonitions ! In the early morning of 
December 7th, 1847, the dreaded messenger came, 
and in the glory and maturity of womanhood, the 
pure spirit of Jane 0. Denver fled from earth, 
leaving behind her the stricken one of whose very 
existence she seemed an essential part. How she 
bore up under the weight of this affliction is best 
described in her own words to a friend who arrived 
just after the sad event. ^' She has left me," she 
said, '• and I, too, should have died, but Jesus stood 
by me through all the fearful night ! " This from 



18 IX 3IEM0RIAM 

one who w;is neitlier visionary nor superstitious, — 
though from childhood possessing a strongly relig- 
ious element of character, — but whose soul had, 
doubtless, during the terrible ordeal of that night, 
cried out in strong agony, to the Compassionate One, 
who never yet refused such an appeal, or failed to 
recognize the incense of true worship, — and there- 
after, over her already excellent life, fell a new 
charm, "the beauty of Holiness." Her grief was 
intense, though very quiet, " showing itself only in 
the softer footfall, the added tenderness of voice, 
the gentler sympathy, the warmer pity with which 
she bound up the broken-hearted." She could not, 
for years, speak of the departed, nor did any ap- 
proach a subject so sacred to her; yet she was, evi- 
dently, always uppermost in her thoughts. The 
old delightful employment of embodying in song 
the emotions of the heart and experiences of life, 
ceased to interest her, and was not resumed until 
towards the close of her own life, when, with sor- 
row sanctified by religion, she wrote, perhaps, some 
of the sweetest gems which ever emanated from 
her pen. Among these are the '^ Eiver Echo " and 
the " Ring Doves," the latter written during a final 
visit to her native place and under a strong con- 
viction that she should see it no more. 

Shortly after her sad bereavement it became 
evident that her own health was rapidly declining, 
and a long-cherislied desire to visit the home of 
her childhood was carried out. Again she breathed 



m MEMORIAM. 19 

the air of the mountains, and new strength was, 
for a time, infused into her feeble frame. She 
greeted each remaining tree and shrub as friends 
parted from but yesterday, and recollected and de- 
scribed each house in the neighborhood — a proof 
of her wonderful memory, Avhich was so retentive, 
that fugitive poems, wbicli had struck her fancy 
when a child, she could repeat entire, a score of 
years after, never having seen them in the interval. 
During this visit she made a public profession 
of her faith — circumstances having hitherto pre- 
vented — by connecting herself with the Presby- 
terian Church of Winchester, under the pastoral 
charge of Rev. Dr. A. H. H. Boyd, one of the most 
eminent ministers of the South, who said, on hear- 
ing of her death, " She was one of the most re- 
markable persons I ever met, — possessed of rare 
piety." She remained in Virginia eighteen months, 
passing through a severe illness towards the close of 
her visit, and returning home a confirmed invalid. 
The remainder of her life was a period of great 
suffering, but it was then that the piety, which was 
the center-jewel of the crowning graces of her 
character, shone brightest. She strove to make 
the outer life a counterpart of the inner. Spend- 
ing much of her time with a married sister who 
resided a mile from the church, every Sabbath 
found her, when at all able to go, in her seat in 
the Sanctuary. It did not hinder her that she was 
compelled to pause every few minutes on the way, 



20 ^^V 2IEM0RLIM. 

unable to proceed, from a paroxysm of coughing. 
Suflfering for years from this grievous cause, scarce 
knowing an hour's respite, by day or by night, no 
murmur ever escaped her. She was accustomed to 
say, '•' The disciple must not be above his Lord." 
She never uttered an impatient word or gave a 
hasty look. E very-day annoyances — the real 
trials of life, because unanticipated — the '' con- 
tinual droppiDg," which is more wearing than the 
violence of misfortune, were met by her with sweet 
serenity. She " died to self." ''Her heart was a 
passion-flower, bearing the crown of thorns and the 
cross of Christ." Next to God, her heart Avas 
given to her country, and it is remarkable that her 
last desire in reference to it was fulfilled so literally. 
Civil war in the United States was apprehended 
and in conversation upon the subject, some time 
before her death, she said, earnestly, with the up- 
ward glance so habitual to her — ^'It is my prayer, 
always, that I may be in my grave before civil Avar 
begins in my country." Her last summer was spent 
in visiting some of her loved friends — *•' partiug 
visits " they proved to be, the last and longest being 
made to a sister living in Harveysburg, Ohio, 
where she remained until her death. Few who 
were her companions that summer, can forget the 
happy expression of her face — her unusual joyous- 
ness ! She seemed not to be treading on earth, but 
looking into heaven, Avatching for the "chariots of 
Israel and the horsemen thereof ! " Their coming 



m ME MORI AM. 21 

was not long delayed. A little past midnight on 
the 16th of October, 1860, her departure took place. 
She had retired to rest, feeling better than usual, 
but being suddenly seized with hemorrhage, had 
only time to alarm the family, when her 

" Life so sweetly ceased to be, 
It lapsed in immortality." 



? s^ M f^ 




TO J. C. D. 

There are murmurs round me stealing, murmurs 

of the glad and gay, 
Like the distant sound of music, floating up the 

azure way. 
Catching sweetness in the valley, gathering beauty 

on the hill, 
And, when melted into distance, playing through 

our bosoms still. 

For they come like old companions, with thy sweet 

familiar name. 
Yet to tell me they are faithful ; as when first of 

old they came. 
To my weary heart to cheer me, when the wild and 

willful bird 
Of glad song had hushed her music, and her voice 

no more was heard. 



They have floated through my bosom, lovely forms 

they have defined, 
Claiming richest gifts of person, and most glorious 

ones of mind, — 



26 TO J. a JD. 

That have shoiie around and sparkled, from their 

high and jeweled throne, 
Till my heart was stirred within me, hy a glory not 

its own. 

From my childhood I have worshiped that high 

intellectual power. 
Which, while pouring gems around us in profuse 

and golden shower, 
To the toil-worn and the weary when affliction 

draweth nigh, 
Yieldeth fortli a sweet refreshment, when they 

almost pine to die. 

As a fountain in the desert, when the storm clouds 

onw^ard roll, 
Givetli life, and health, and vigor, to the parched 

and thirsty soul. 
So the well of mind will strengthen, when our 

strength is almost gone, 
And amidst this living desert we liave wandered 

far alone. 

Not all lonely have I wandered, not unanswered 

have I sung, 
Eor thy voice^ like gladdest music, ever on my ear 

hath rung; 
In the lone and far-off valley — on the rugged 

mountain side, 
To whate'er my thoughts have wandered, thou 

wast ever found beside. 



TO J. c. n. 27 

Oft iu fancy we have traveled o'er the fields of 

Palestine, 
Seen a thousand armors gleaming, seen a thousand 

lances shine, 
Followed with our eyes the banners of the stern 

and high crusade, 
When the lion-hearted Eichard, into dust the lion 

laid. 

High above the holy city, with her thousand 

" minarets, 
Gleaming in the silent moonlight, like a sun that 

never sets, 
Seen the banners of the crescent, looking upwards 

toward the sky, 
While afar, in stern defiance, waved the red-cross 

flag on high. 

Though the minstrel band hath sung them, and 

the minstrel eye have seen. 
And the minstrel heart hath loved them, for the 

glories that have been, 
Like to fancy's w^ayside children, still they gleam 

before the eye. 
Claiming for themselves a tribute, though that 

tribute be a sigh. 

IS^ot alone the days of knighthood hath our wan- 
dering fancy claimed. 

Yet a feeling binds us to them, that the present 
hath not named ; 



2S TO J. c. D. 

Aod the past is but a specter, hannting with a 

warning head, 
Erery palace of the living, from the chambers of 

the dead. 

And it reads to us a lesson it were wise in us to 

learn. 
Of the thousands gone before us, of the eentle and 

the stem : 
From the empire worn and wasiea, lo loe single 

rose-leaf shed, 
There are foot-prints left to guide us, took we 

lessons of the dead. 

And the faithful Christian soldier, with his helmet 

and his shield. 
Eyer ready for the combat, ever ready for the 

field. 
Shadows forth the hurrying Present, where the 

armies of the heart, 
Moslem host and Christian soldier, strive for the 

better part. 

Hark! the tread of armed foemen, rushing onward 
to the fight : 

In the crowded noontide hour, in the stillness of 
the night. 

Louder, louder yet the trumpet pealeth forth its 
warning tone ; 

Pointing upwanl, ever upward, to the fountain- 
head »W^. s^ . rrJL 



TO J. C. D. 29 

We hare heard it — oft-rimes heard it ; aod amidst 
the hornring throng. 

Some glad tone of jonng affection, ponring its 
sweet stream along ! 

To the way-worn and the weary breathing words 
of life and lore. 

Pointing upward, erer upward, to the fountain- 
head above. 

It hath gathered strength and f error, it hath 

gathered sweetness too. 
Since the world of snn and shadow burst upon our 

infant xiew ; 
It hath been a star of promise shining o'er a weary 

way. 
Singing, siniLr : rough the darkness, iikr , ' rl 

at br»^ii.k of day I 

We hare heard it on the hillside, when together 

side by side. 
We hare watched the white clouds moving in the 

pleasant eventide. 
Pictured forth their strange, appearance, through 

imagination's eye. 
When for our beloved country, fought the warriors 

of the sky. 

Oft beneath the tall, dark cedars of our first; and 

iiw-off home 
We have heard it through our bosoms like a gush 

of music come ; 



30 TO J. C. D. 

When the earnest stars were looking from tJieir 

silent homes above, 
There hath breathed a whisper round us, and that 

siugle word was love! 

There hath been an angel with us ; 'neath the 

darkly-shining tree, — 
We have heard the sound of pinions rustling round 

us joyfully ; 
Heard them in the voice of waters — heard them in 

the thrilling song 
Of the wild bird on the mountain ; — may it linger 

with us long ! 

May it hover round us ever ! leading to that only 
shrine ; 

Through a world of sin and sorrow, we have need 
of light divine. 

Aiding every first endeavor — making e'en afflic- 
tion dear, 

May we feel that earth is hallowed ! — there hath 
been an anoel here ! 




THE BURIAL IN THE WILDERNESS. 

Sadly they came, sadly as those who bore 
The precious burden they had treasured long 
In their heart's love, unto another home 
Reluctantly ! 

Reluctant to yield up 
Her, who had been to them a bud of hope, 
Springing above the worn and barren soil 
Of desolation — breathing life to those. 
Who, with worn spirit and with stricken frame, 
Had sought the desert to lie down and die. 

A meek yet faithful sentinel she stood, 

With those of sterner mould and stronger frame, 

Upon the watch-tower — and her hope ne'er 

failed — 
No fears, no terrors shook her soul, for she 
Had asked with suppliant voice, and earnest heart, 
For strength from heaven, and 'twas denied her 

not. 

To those of fearful heart, she was afar, 
The bearer of good tidings — and at home 
A well of consolation, flowing up. 
Holy, and pure, and calm, and full of life. 



32 THE BURIAL IN THE WILDERNESS. 

Even to the brim. — And every thirsty soul 
That like the j)i'ostrate desert-flowers, lacked 
Enduring vigor to resist the heat 
And burden of the day, might come and ask, 
And have — and still that stream of love would 

flow 
Unceasingly, and never know decay. 

And as a fountain lif teth up its voice 
In the still midnight hour, she too would send 
Her spirit's voice abroad o'er all the earth, 
Borne on the wings of ever- watchful prayer, 
Until it filled the mighty wilderness, 
With the vast greatness of undying faith. 
And reached even unto heaven. 

What brought her there. 
To that dark wilderness ? — she on whose brow 
The light of many a balmy eve had set 
In far-off England ; — she o'er whose young life, 
And glorious beauty, and exalted mind, 
Eond eyes had watched, and kindred bosoms beat 
In exultation ? 

LoA'ely, in truth, she w^as, 
And full of gentleness — whether beside 
The sportive fountain, listening to its voice. 
And sending back an echo with her own. 
Or twining wild-flowers in her raven hair, 
Eound in her own green woodlands, for she loved 
Those sweet and trusting children of the earth, 
And oft would lay them on her heart and bind 



THE BURIAL IN THE WILDERNESS. 33 

Them round her temples — for they ever taught 

A lesson to her beautiful and pure, 

That when her bread was on the waters cast, 

After full many a day it would return 

To her again. 

Or 'midst the lofty throng 
Of England's noblest ones — ^'mongst whom she 

stood 
An equal — listening to the fervid tone 
Of high imagination ; or the voice 
Of matchless eloquence ; or yielding praise. 
Where praise was justly due, heedless of that 
Bestowed upon herself ; or bending o'er 
The couch of stricken poverty and woe, 
Breathing the heart's best comfort, sympathy, 
She was the same, all gentleness and loye, 
AH patience and all sweetness. 

"Wherefore then, 
From hearts tliat worshiped, and from throngs 

that bowed 
Before her as she passed, and from the voice 
Of many blessings showered upon her path, 
Eich incense to her spirit — from the tears 
Of kindred eyes, and from her father's halls, 
AVandered she hither, fearless of the wide 
And mighty ocean, of the empty soil, 
The frowning wilderness, and midnight foe ? 
Why came she from all these, to find the grave 
After whole years of pain and suffering, 
Of toil and of privation, in the gloom 



34 THE BURIAL IN THE WILDERNESS. 

Of the dark wilderness, where never eye 
Of kindred might weep o'er it — where no hand 
Would plant the flowers she ever loved in life, 
AboYe her grave ? 

Had England's wide-spread realm 
No grave for her fair daughter ? Had the white 
And marble tombs that stood long centuries, 
^N^ear her ancestral halls, many and wide, 
No space remaining for her father's child ? 

Aye, there was room enough, full space they had. 
Full beyond measure, for her fragile form. 
And kindred dust — but when she sought to kneel. 
As she would do on many a starry eve. 
Beside the graves of her dead ancestors. 
And pray the spirits of the mighty dead 
To act as ministering angels to her heart. 
And guard her from the ills that hovered round 
The weakest of her race — at such a time, 
A shadowy hand would beckon her away. 
And in her startled ear a solemn voice, 
Solemn, yet most distinct would whisper '•' Go ! " 
And from the secret chambers of her soul, 
The mandate was sent forth — and from the vales, 
The giant mountains and the lofty hills, 
The mighty rivers, the ennobling streams, 
There came a voice, that rose and swelled, until 
No other sound was heard in all the earth. 
And she did go ! 

But where ? 



THE BURIAL IN THE WILDERNESS. 35 

A sliout arose, 
And the huge ocean spread her billowy arms, 
Covered with foam, and panting like a steed, 
Jtist recent from the battle, to receive 
And bear her onward to the destined shore ; 
And from the vast and gloomy wilderness, 
A voice said " Come," and perishing hearts said 

" Come," 
And fainting souls — and o'er that forest-land, 
Eeligion hovered, with a fluttering wing, 
Half scared and half triumphant — for the hearts 
That braved oppression in their native land. 
That left their homes, and left their fathers 

graves, 
To cross the toiling ocean, and to dare 
The dangers of the forest, could not yield 
Their courage up entirely — they had placed 
Their trust in Him who never would forsake,^ 
The God of their true worship. 

So she came 
Unto an unknown and a barren shore 
Unfaltering. — With meek and placid brow, 
And tranquil eye, and ever-prayerful heart, 
Soothing the weary and alflicted one. 
With words of gentlest balm, and lifting up 
Her voice to heaven to bear her firmly on. 
Even to the end. 

Her task on earth was done. 
Fully accomplished, and she bowed her head, 
And rendered back her spirit to the hands 



36 THE BURIAL IN THE WILDERNESS. 

Of Him who gave it, pure as wlien it first 
Was sent from its primeval heaven to fill 
A tenement of clay, and do the will 
Of the Most High. 

Her task Avas done, and she 
Died peacefully, and full of hope, as those 
Who die in Christ, to live with him again 
Beyond the resurrection; and the hands 
That ministered unto her dying wants, 
l^ow bore her to her final resting place. 

Moonlight lay on the forest like a shroud 
Wrapping its huge limbs in a last embrace ; 
And the young stars looked softly on the flowers 
Which their fond gaze returned, with earnest eyes, 
Eich with deep language — and the sighing breeze, 
Mourned brokenly, and at short intervals, 
Among the lofty branches, as it, too, 
Sang a last requiem o'er departed worth. 

Slowly they came! 
Slowly and heavily, as those who bore 
Their burden in deep sorrow ! and they laid 
Her, where the moonlight shed its brightest beams, 
And Avhere the stars might look upon her grave 
ForcYer. And they raised their voices high. 
And swelled a solemn chant of lowliest love 
And meek submission and reliance strong. 
Unto the pitying Chastener of their hearts, 
Until the bosom of the forest thrilled 
With the high anthem. 



THE BURIAL IN THE WILDERNESS. 37 

"O, Mightiest ! from tliy throne 

Look down upon Thy mourning children here; 
We come to render back to Thee Thine own, 

To yield a spirit that we held most dear ! 
Bend from Thy throne, Holiest ! to receive 

The offering we bring unto Thee now; 
Nothing more pure, more lovely, could we give — 

Nothing more precious had we to bestow. 

Lord, take her ! she is Thine ; 
0, twine 

A living laurel round her fadeless brow ! 

'* Earth ! open wide thy arms, 

To fold in thine embrace the loveliest child 
That ever sought thy bosom ! — from the storms 

That quiver o'er thy breast in terrors wild, 
Protect her well ! for she was kind and meek. 
And loved the simplest flowers that perfume 
shed 
Upon the morning breeze, and oft would seek 
Their balmy breath to ease her dying head ! 
Earth, take the gift we bring, 
And fling 
Thy sweetest flowers upon her lowly bed ! 

" Ruler of heaven and earth ! 

Dispenser of all good ! to Thee we come, 
To yield a spirit of celestial birth. 

Receive her to thy fold, her heavenly home ! 
She left a land of plenty, for the cold 



38 THE BURIAL IX THE WILDERNESS. 

And sterile wilderness, where she could bow 
In freedom to thee, and sweet converse hold, 
Fearless of haughty words and frowning brow ! 
Lord, take her ! she is Thine ; 
0, twine 
A living laurel round her fadeless brow ! 

" From her ancestral halls. 

From England's princely palaces and domes, 
She heard the voice of her Redeemer call, 

And meek in faith she left her fathers' tombs, 
To make her home in this vast wilderness, 

To find a grave where love might never shed 
One tributary tear, — might never bless 

Her patient sufferings and her dying head ! 

Earth, take the gift we bring. 

And fling 

Thy choicest flowers upon her lowly bed ! 

" 0, from Thy great white throne. 

Almighty ! look upon our mourning band ; 
We miss from out its ranks the loveliest one ! 
Deign to withdraw from us Thy chastenin* 
hand ; 
Let Thine eye pity, and Thy patient love 

Upon our hearts in streams of mercy flow, 
And give us faith to meet with her above, 
As to Thy will submissively we bow ! 

Lord, take her ! she is Thine ; 
0, twine 
A living laurel round her fadeless brow I 



THE BURIAL IN THE WILDERNESS. 39 

*^Dust, to thy earth return ! 

The temple thon didst form is desolate, 
Its dweller hath departed ! thou wast worn. 

With sorrow, and no more couldst animate 
The liviug soul within thee ! she away 

Hath sought a happier clime — there to remain 
Until the great and resurrection day. 

When the freed soul shall call for thee again ! 
Earth, take again thy dust 
In trust; 

Our present loss is her eternal gain. 

"Soul ! to the God who gave 

Thee being without end ! whom thou didst find 
Long-suffering, strong and infinite to save 

The tottering step, the broken heart to bind ! 
Thou hast returned — thou couldst no longer stay; 
Thy mission is accomplished ! thou hast thrown 
Aside the shackles of thy living clay. 

And thy Eedeemer hath resumed His own ! 
Soul, raise thy glad voice, raise 
In praise. 
With all God's angels round the Eternal 
Throne ! " 



FEEEDOM'S WATOHWOED. 

J. C. T>. 

"Give me liberty, or give nie death." — Patrick Henry. 

They stood together side by side, within the halls 

of state, 
The proudest ones of all the land, the gifted and 

the great. 
The graj-haired statesman, who had learned his 

every thought to hide. 
And he, who dark deception's wiles «'ould scorn 

for very pride. 
The energetic soul was there, the will for action, 

when 
The occasion matched the mighty mind; — all stood 

together then. 
But silence was upon each tongue, and darkness on 

each brow : — 
What mighty spell o'ershadows them, that all are 

silent now ? 

A mighty spell indeed ! a spell has fallen upon 

each brain. 
As memory conjures up and links the chains of 

love ao^ain ; 



FREEDOM'S WATCHWORD. 41 

The Past the glorious Past is there, magnificent 
and lone, 

And old affection takes lier seat upon the phantom 
throne, 

And points with trembling hand to days — days 
passed forever by, 

When hand was met by kindred hand, and eye met 
kindred eye. 

How could they throw aside the chain, or how un- 
loose the band, 

That bound them to the parent-stem, the far-famed 
motherland ? 



And on the fame of other years, remembrance 
looked with pride, 

When brave hearts undivided stood, together, side 
by side ; 

When brave men smiled to see beneath the forest's 
shining leaf, 

What gleaming orbs of fire bespoke, the dark- 
browed Indian chief. 

And rising in illustrious shape, as if their eyes to 
mock, 

They see the feathered arroAvs strike — the glitter- 
ing tomahawk ; 

Oh ! mutual danger met, endeared them to each 
other more 

Than all the pleasures they had quaffed upon the 
banquet-floor. 



42 FREED03r8 WATCHWORD. 

Those dreams are broken — gone the Past, and gone 

her magic thrall, 
When one arises in their midst, the noblest of 

them all ! 
" Thou thinkest of a worn-out World, thou dweller 

of the New, 
And of her glory too, perchance, but is it shared bv 

you ? 
Go ask the slave, that in the mine, toils through un- 

endiug night, 
If the gold he seeks for gives him joy, because 

that gold is bright ? 
We, for her glory struggle on, down to destruc- 
tion's waves; 
What does it matter? — slie is great, and are we not 

her slaves ? 



"Ye think upon the Past — now turn, and on the 

Present think : 
We ask her for affection's cup, she gives us scorn to 

drink ! 
But fourfold shall it be returned, amid the battle's 

glare. 
We'll tear a nation from her grasp, and shame 

shall be her share. 
We'll be a nation of ourselves ; have glory of our 

own. 
Will win it for no other land ; no monarch on his 

throne: 



LIBERTTS WATCHWORD. 43 

!N"o king conferring rank or shame, with vacillating 

breath 
No stronger than mine own ! then give me Liberty 

or Death ! " 

Then thrillingly to every cheek the crimson blood 

up-sprang, 
And each one started to his feet as if a trumpet 

rang ; 
Firm is each lip, and fixed and bright the lustre 

of each eye, 
And wildly throbs each beating heart, impetuous 

and high. 
While murmurs rise around — at first, low as the 

breezes hum ; 
But gathering strength as they advance, like wild 

sea-waves they come, 
Swelling into one miglity shout, given with unfal- 
tering breath: 
" We'll stand together — give to us, give Liberty or 

Death!" 

Then fast and far, like hurrying winds across the 
tossing sea. 

Abroad through all the land it went, that watch- 
word of the free ! 

The preacher in his pulpit stood, in silence and 
alone. 

There came upon his musing ear, a strange, a start- 
ling tone ; 



44 LIBERTY'S WATCHWORD. 

He lifted up his eyes to heaven, as if it came from 
there; 

He lifted up his heart to heaven, in deep and sol- 
emn prayer: 

•'We ask not Pride, nor gorgeons Pomp, nor 
Glory's fading wreath, 

We ask not these — but give, give ns Liberty or 
Death!'' 

And they — the liardiest of the land — sons of the 

monn tain-soil, 
Whose hearts were strong with courage, and Avhose 

hands were hard with toil. 
Ah! honored be those dauntless men, the brave, 

the truly free, 
Honored be they ! — except to God, to none they 

bend the knee. 
The plough was left within the field, the furrow 

was not done, 
Down dropped at once each implement, and up 

rose every one: 
"If we are slaves, alike to us rich soil or barren 

heath. 
We'll strike for both, and freely strike, for Liberty 

or Death." 

And he whose voice was heard alone amid the bat- 
tle's blast. 

Whose form was only seen amid war's whirl-wind 
as it past; 



LIBERTY'S WATCHWORD. 45 

The forest was his tower by day; by night it was a 
flame — 

The Briton saw the light arise, and shouted Ma- 
rion's name. 

Bold man ! the gallant leader of a gallant little 
band, 

Thou wert among the first to snatch the beacon's 
flaming brand, 

" Ay ! let us live the patriot's life, or yield the 
patriot's breath, 

We ask no other terms, — then strike for Liberty or 
Death ! " 

Should it be asked if Victory went onward in their 

track. 
Proud Saratoga's rocky plain can give the answer 

back ; 
Where B]"i tain's haughty soldiery war's bitterest 

fortune w^ept, 
And envied those, more fortunate, who, waiting 

burial, slept. 
Old Bennington can tell how Stark discomfited 

the foe, 
And Trenton how the invaders' blood stained its 

wide fields of snow, 
And Yorktown's shattered walls can tell, how 

fortune's fickle breath 
To millions living and unborn gave liberty, not 

Death ! . 



THE FATHER A:N'D HIS CHILD. 

He stood and gazed upon her ! on her brow 

Three summer suns had scarcely shed the light 

That should have been all gladness — but had left 

A shadow and a thonghtfulness, that seemed 

Almost unnatural iji one so young, 

So beautiful and gentle. Childhood sat 

Upon her brow, but all its mirth was gone, 

And innocence had shrined itself within 

The temple of her spirit, and looked out, 

Serene as heaven, from her large deep eyes 

Of heaven's own blue. Alas! that grief should cast 

A veil of dreaminess upon those orbs, 

That half their brightness buried ! 

Still she sat ; 
And by her side sported a little lamb, 
As innocent and helpless as herself. 
And like herself the last one of the flock ! 
So thought I. following with saddened eyes, 
The gentle playmates ; and within my heart, 
I felt there was a sympathy between 
All things, for every thing God's hand had made. 

"Lammy, poor little lammy !" with a start 
I listened to the tone of piercing grief, 



THE FATHER AND HIS CHILD. 47 

And waking from my reverie, beheld 

Too late, indeed, the cause that called it forth. 

A gurgling stream ran through the grassy lawn. 

And hither in its sportive playfulness, 

The lamb had wandered from its mistress' side, 

Skipping and frisking in its fearless mood. 

Unconscious of the fate that hovered near! 

For while it stood upon the soft dark bank, 

The yielding earth gave way, and down it fell, 

Wavering an instant on the treacherous edge. 

As loth to leave the pleasant world behind. 

" Lammy, poor little lammy ! " on the bank 
She stood with arms outstretched, as if to snatch 
Her gentle favorite from its watery grave, 
That gave it back no more ! and with a sob 
Of heartfelt sympathy for that lone child, 
I closed my eyes, that filled with bitter grief. 
For I, alas ! was powerless to save. 

" My daughter ! " said a deep and manly voice, 
In tones of sad affection, — and an arm 
Was thrown caressingly around her form ; 
And as the noble one before me, pressed 
The weeping mourner to his manly heart. 
His proud lip quivered, and his eyes grew dim, 
For she was motherless ! 

What love is like 
The love we feel for children ! 0, what love 
Is like a father's for his worshiped child ; 



48 THE FATHER AND HIS CHILD. 

There dwells a tenderness in every thought, 

Too pure for earth, Something that breathes of 

heaven 
Is in the graceful movements of its limbs, 
That Avhispers to his heart, " this angel-one 
Is half of heaven!" — and so he feels a love, 
Sacred, distinct from all on earth beside. 
To which all other love is poor — so much 
Is it devoid of passion ! 

Children are 
The earthly part of angels — sent on earth 
To minister unto affection's wants ; 
Oh ! when the heart is sad — when wasted hopes, 
And broken friendships, and affliction's rod. 
And all the dreams ambition called to life 
Are blasted, ere the buds had time to bloom. 
That never yet have borne but bitter fruit. 
Of sin, or of repentance— when all these 
Press heavily upon the aching heart. 
How soft the accents of his darling child 
Fall on the father's ear ! He hears, and feels 
Less wretched than before — he hears and feels 
That one heart loves him still, amidst the gloom 
Of his wrecked fortunes — and he hopes once more. 
And when the love affection once enjoyed. 
And still remembers vividly, is lost 
Forever to the heart ; when pallid death 
Hath laid his hand upon the loved one's brow, 
And dimmed the sparkling eye ; wiien the cold 

earth 



THE FATHER ANB HIS CHILD. 49 

Hath folded in its bosom the fair form 
To be returned no more ; when the sad train 
Of mourners have departed, every one, 
And Jefthimin his desolate home alone; 
And all the agony, so long pent-up 
Within his soul, bursts forth — and as he clasps 
His orphaned children to his bleeding heart, 
A tenderness he knew not of before, 
Towards them fills all his soul, until he deems 
Their mother's spirit watches from above, 
Speaking unto his own, of those loved ones, 
So helpless and so innocent ; he feels 
A comfort even in wretchedness; lie sees 
Their mother's beauty on each brow ; he hears 
Her voice in every lispiug tone ; and turns 
Involuntarily to meet the eyes 
Cold, cold alas ! in death ! and then the tide 
Of his strong feelings, separated once, 
Now pours itself along in one broad stream 
Of concentrated and unwasting power! — 
O, sacred be such feelings ; there is less 
Of earth than heaven in them ! 




JUSTINIAN AND BELISAEIUS. 

["It is in Tain thy generosity would absolve me: shortly 
called to the Supreme Tribunal, there I must render an account 
of all your sulTerings : the Kinj^ of kings will say, ' What hast 
thou done with the faithful friend I gave thee?' " — Mad. de 
Genlis.] 

Death, on the monarch's pallid brow 

Had placed his seal of fate ; 
And all his regal honors now, 

"Were chill and desolate. 
He felt how empty and how vain 

The pride, the pomp, the strife, — 
0, he would give them all to gain 

One moment more of life. 

He thought of all his victories won, 

The field in blood imbued. 
Of him who led his armies on^ 

His own ingratitude. 
Unto his soul with leaden pain. 

They darkly onward came, 
And the monarch hid his burning face, 

In anguish and in shame. 

But hark ! a voice of other j^ears, 

Eings to his very heart. 
Is it the foeman's shout he hears? 

Or why that sudden start? 



JUSTINIAN AND BULISABIUS. 5] 

A darker recollection came, 

Of griefs beyond control, 
To blow on high the withering flame, 

That burnt within his sonl. 

Iso foeman's voice is on the gale, 

No banner floats on high. 
He hears no warrior's dying wail 

Eise on the troubled sky ; 
But lowly kneeling by his side, 

He hears the stifled sigh 
Of him, who spurned with yictor-pride. 

The crown of Italy. 

Where was the strength that ever led 

Thy hosts to victory ? 
Justinian! where the eye that shed 

A glory even on thee ? 
0, mighty warrior! could the brand, 

A fame like thine molest : 
Thy strength is gone, and envy's hand 

Has blotted out the rest. 

Justinian gazed upon the form, 

That in a prouder hour, 
Had backward swept amidst the storm, 

The fierce barbarian power. 
What could such earnest woe import 

As that which met his eye ? 
Conscience came trembling to his heart. 

And whispered, " It was I." 



52 JUSTimAN AND BELISARIUS. 

He heard the blessed word " forgive ; " 

Could it new life impart ? 
He could not hear the sound and live, 

For death was on his heart. 
And to liis bosom came the thought. 

The burning consciousness, 
His own ingratitude had wrought 

His latest wretchedness. 

Ah ! Beli sarins, could thine eye. 

Thy dying monarch see, 
With conscience pointing still on high. 

Great thy revenge would be ! 
But love knelt down at mercy's shrine, 

And waved him to the tomb, 
Another tribunal than thine 

Adjudged his final doom. 




THE SWORD OF WALLACE. 

["Among the relics and curiosities preserved in Rinfauns 
Castle, Perthshire, the seat of Lord Grey, is a sword, said to 
have belonged to Sir William Wallace. Rinfauns was at one 
time the property of Sir Adam de Longueville, the friend of 
Wallace ; and the tradition, or history of the family is that the 
Scottish Patriot, about 1300, presented the weapon to his friend, 
by whom it was carefully cherished, and bequeathed to his suc- 
cessor."] 

Sword of the mighty dead! amidst the bloom 
And splendor shining ronnd thee — the perfume 
That haunts the air, and makes it almost seem 
The breathing beauty of a pictured dream — 
Amidst the music and the voice of glee, 
Prom all their witcheries I turn to thee, 
Grasp thee and tread the path that Wallace trod 
When thou wast drawn for Freedom and for God. 

Imposing 'midst the crust of years art thou, 
Stern as the frown on war's relentless brow; 
Unbending now, amidst this after-life, 
As when thou sought'st the firmament of strife. 
And drank the blood that freedom bade thee 

draw. 
When. thy great master foUoAved nature's law. 



54 THE SWORD OF WALLACE. 

And sought the freedom peace would not afford, 
Bidding it flash from out the veugeful sword. 

Sword of the brave ! the train of years long fled 
Passes me by like mourners of the dead ! 
The beautiful and brave have gazed on tiiee, 
Will thy stern spirit panse to speak to me ? 
Tell me the vengeance of thy mighty wrath, 
Of all the tears that followed in thy path, 
Of all the hopes that on thine absence hung, 
And all the glory round thy presence flung! 

Tell me of Scotland's woes, of Scotland's tears, 
The gathered agony of long, long years, 
Which her torn bosom felt, so dark and deep 
That 'midst them all she scarce had room to 

weep! 
Then tell me of her many victories won, 
The proud achievements of her martyred son, 
Tell of her Wallace found, of Wallace lost. 
Answer me, Sword! for thou wast freedom's host. 

" What would'st thou, mortal ! can a voice of 

mine 
Else from this silent steel to answer thine ? 
Oh ! I could tell of many a deed sublime. 
Whose brightness long has lit the stream of time. 
How many centuries have passed away. 
How many thrones have crumbled to decay, 
Since first within these walls my light was shed. 
A sacred relic of the miorhtv dead ! 



THE SWORD OF WALLACE 55 

" Wallace ! immortal Wallace ! on thy name 

Is cast the light of never-dying fame; 

What though no marble o'er thy dust is placed, 

Thy name in every freeman's heart is traced ! 

There be thy living monuments of fame, 

There shines engraved the glory of thy name; 

Ever to live divine ! ever to be, 

A watchword for the sons of liberty. 

"From out the ceaseless silence reigning round, 
Methinks I sometimes hear the battle-sound; 
And from its mute inglorious life afar. 
My spirit leaps to join the tide of war ! 
Oh ! for the master-hand that bore me on! 
oil! for the light that on my pathway shone! 
Both gone alike, lost with oblivion's wave; 
Gone down forever to the silent grave ! 

" Not there forever will his spirit rest, 
Who clasped the woes of Scotland to his breast ; , 
Whose owji brave heart received the blow pre- 
pared 
Tor her, and who to die so nobly dared ! 
Still, when the light of freedom blazes far, 
Shall his firm spirit lead the van of war. 
And into each heart pour, what erst he poured. 
Strength to the freeman — valor to the sword. 

" I must be silent! seek no more to know ; 
It is not thine to hear — mine to bestow — 



56 



THE SWORD OF WALLACE. 



Yet when tliou seest me, tales of other years 
Will rise before thee, clothed in blood and tears' 
And from the heart of Scotland's mountain-home, 
And from her streams a mighty voice shall come, 
Filling the bosom with its startling cry, 
* Like Wallace nobly live, or bravely die ! ' '' 



THE SIBERIAN EXILE. 

Coldly the winds blew o'er the barren heath, 
Where wrapt in garments made of reindeer-skin, 
That scarce sufficed to shield his limbs, he stood, 
The lone Siberian exile. On his brow 
The lapse of years had left full many a trace 
Of their sad progress — and his sunken eye 
Gazed vacantly on objects, that to him, 
Brought no associations of sweet thoughts - 
To wake a kindred feeling in his heart. 
And what was there around him that could call, 
To life and light one pleasurable glow 
"Within his bosom, and awake the strings 
Of that sweet harp within it, to yield forth 
One trembling tone of ecstacy and love ; 
Not the cold skies above him, nor the winds 
That swept in fitful gusts the wintry waste, 
Around his miserable dwelling ; not 
His sad companions in that dismal land, 
Who passed their days in gathering bitterness? 
From each sweet flower that memory treasured 

deep 
Within her spirit-cells ! 



58 THE SIBERIAN EXILE. 

What were the woes 
Of others unto him, whose heart was full 
Of grief he called his own that Avoukl not bear, 
Divulgement, though 'twas written on his brow ? 
There is at all times, and in every heart, 
A sorrow it were sacrilege to chide. 
Too stern to seek companionship, though all 
May know the fountain whence the stream pro- 
ceeds ; 
Like bodies of the old Egyptian kings, 
It lies entombed within its burial-place, 
With its own history, and defies decay. 

Poland ! thy children's hearts are like to thee, • 
Thou broken country ! with thy fettered limbs, 
And wasted strength. — Of all thy numberless 

woes. 
Can none so loudly cry, that heaven shall hear, 
For justice on the heartless conqueror, 
On him who, while gazing on thy bleeding limbs. 
Unsatisfied with their dismemberment. 
Would break with ruthless hand, the tender links, 
That heart with heart conjoin, like hope with 

heaven, 
And send tliem forth, unblest by tenderness, 
Unvisited by kind, familiar thoughts, 
To perish on a miserable shore? 

Long years have passed, made longer with the 
griefs 



THE SIBERIAN EXILE. 59 

That in tliem lay, since on that exile's brow 
A soft, white hand was laid in tenderness, 
And a sweet voice made -music in his ear, 
And a glad smile woke sunshine in his heart. 
But these have ceased their office long ago! 
The pressure of that tiny hand no more 
Is on his brow — the music of that voice 
Has passed away from earth, or, sendeth forth, 
Like a sweet lute whose master-chord is 

broken, 
A melancholy murmur, on the air, 
In tones, that hopeless and uncertain grown, 
Essays in vain, to reach the heart of him. 
Who ever held them dear. The smile that 

caught 
Its glow from the aifections, lights no more 
The chambers of the robbed and desolate heart, 
jS'or leaveth its faint trace upon the brow ; 
Sorrow hath swept all vestiges away. 
And like a brooding spirit, keepeth watch 
Within the ruined empire she hath won. 

Oh ! why, when all the fires have ceased to burn, 
That lit the bosom with their mingled flames. 
Of hope, and energy and high resolve. 
Alone, will cold and spiritless life remain ? — 
Without warmth-giving beams and strengthening 

dews. 
The flower will die — the stream will turn to 

dust, 



60 THE SIBERIAN EXILE. 

Whene'er the source that feeds, becometh dry ; 
But life will linger on deprived of all ! 
The heart is too lono- breakino^I — when the love 
That gathers strength with each succeeding 

year, 
And learns to cling to others as its life. 
Is torn from out the heart — it too should die, 
Nor thus creep on, counting the weary steps 
Unto the grave ! 

Oh ! it is sad to think 
That one whose youth gave out such promises. 
Of stainless courage and untarnished wortli ; 
Whose manhood sealed them with the seal of 

truth, 
Should thus,, for half a century, wear out 
His life in vain repinings, in a bleak 
And cheerless land, where none but strangers' 

hands 
May place the frozen earth above liis head, 
When his last breath is draAvn, and his last 

prayer 
Ascends for shattered Poland! 

Weep for him ! 
Weep for the heart whence noble sentiments 
Sprang up unconsciously, like the green tree 
Upon the mountain-summit ; strong in strength. 
And pure in motive, heavenward in their 

growth. 
Giving encouragement to tlie liigh of soul. 
And shelter to the humble. Weep that he. 



THE SIBERIAN EXILE. 6i 

Should be fiite's plaything for a little hour ! 
Weep for the noble soldier bound in chains, 
Compelled to look upon his bleeding bands. 
And wasted country — and forbid to aid 
The arms of one, or share the other's fate I 



And weep that Patriotism thus should meet 
Her guardian ! Not upon the battle-plains, 
With banners streaming o'er him, and the 

shouts 
Of victory swelling in his dying ear. 
But friendless, solitary, and unknown, 
A stranger in inhospitable clime, 
Whose heart, by drinking deep of poisoned 

springs. 
Is dying, but not dead I 

And shed a tear 
Of unfeigned sorrow, that the chosen spot 
From which he started, led to such a goal! 

And weep, alas ! for him, whose heart long since 
Has ceased to yield its customary store 
Of love to fellow-man ! nor treasured in 
Kindly affections, like the dews of heaven. 
Invigorating all they breathe upon ! 
Nor felt the clasp of kindred hand in his, 
Nor met the glance of loving eyes whose light 
Was ever turned on him, as turns the flower 
Towards the sun it worships ! and whose tongue 



62 



THE SIBERIAN EXILE. 



Can claim no country as his own — whose grave, 

Unmade as yet, in this cold desert, he 

Will some time find! Whose history, in short. 

In a few words will be — he lived and died 

A lone Siberian Exile ! — weep for him ! 



EGBERT OF NORMANDY. 

[" This unfortunate son of William the Conqueror seems to 
have been born to be the sport of fortune, or rather the victim 
of his own indiscretion. He was a prince of great courage, and 
for some time of great reputation. But his profusion and 
thoughtless imprudence caused him twice to lose the opportun- 
ity of ascending the throne of England, which was his indispu- 
table birth-right. After spending his youth amidst toil and 
fatigues, he saw himself at last deprived of his fortune, his 
friends and his freedom, and condemned to languish the re- 
mainder of his days in hopeless captivity. He expired in Car- 
diflf Castle, where he had been kept twenty-six years a prison- 
er." — Bigland's History of England.] 

Aloke ! alone! when wilt thou cease to be, 
0, weary life ? when, when shall I be free? 
Too long, too long I pine! the caged bird 
From its wire-prison mournfully is heard 
Pleading for sympathy! but I no more! 
The hopes that led me on, dreams can restore 
To me no longer. I have dreamed in vain! 
The cherished visions will not come again 
To cheer my prison-house; they too forsake, 
And leave my heart in loneliness to break 
In its own sepulchre — to perish o'er 
The glorious things it worshiped so before — 
Life's withered flowers, affection's broken ties. 
And deeds of valor that around me rise 
In glittering ruins! 



64 ROBERT OF NORMANDY. 

Could these perish too. 
I might be happier! but before my view 
They rise, aud spectre-like point to the days 
Of buried greatness, when the warrior's bays 
Bloomed round my brow, aud many a deed of 

fame 
The minstrel sung in honor of my name! 
When kings Avere my comjoanions, when afar 
Came bannered hosts on to the Holy War 
In distant Palestine ; when blood was poured 
Forth, like the mountain-torrent, wiien the 

sword 
Was drawn and left unsheathed, and wrath was 

sent 
Upon the wings of every element 
Dealing destruction! 

0, for one short hour 
Wherein to dream ! to feel again the power 
Of a free spirit on the battle-plain! 
To hear the martial call to amis again. 
The rousing up to conquest, and to see 
The red-cross flag wave on to victory 
Hosts of brave men! to mark thy ancient walls, 
0, high Jerusalem! shake at the call 
Of crowned heads, who struggled hard to die 
Low at thy jeweled feet! 

I heard the cry 
Of the wild Saracen rise on the air, 
Shouting defiance — and the crescent there. 



ROBERT OF NORMANDY. 65 

Above the battlements spread gaily out 
Her field of spotless snow. I heard a shout, 
That soared to the middle depths of azure heaven, 
Rending the clouds! 

Strong hearts to men are given, 
To lead them through disaster and through 

death ; 
And stronger still, to cast the laurel-wreath 
Of triumph hardly won, from off their brow! 
But what can make the haughty spirit bow 
Submissively to wrong — bend to the dust 
Each passionate impulse and there let it rust ? 

As well the sword, whose flash led on to fame. 
Might live in honor, while its owner's name 
Was lost amidst the past, nor history's page 
Told of his deeds to each succeeding age! 
Nor minstrel breathed his name, nor aftertimes 
Echoed it, when they heard the joyful chimes 
Peal for some triumph won; as well might fame 
Die with the dead, or echo back no name. 
As the proud heart hide in the dust its wrongs, 
And tamely stoop above them! 

There are songs 
Sung in sweet childhood, that will fill the heart 
With after-dreams of glory — bid upstart 
Before the eye, whole ranks of mailed men. 
Armed for high conquest, people the wide glen 



66 ROBERT OF NORMANDY. 

With warrior-hearts that move in proud array 
Beneath yictorious banners, mark the phiy 
Of nodding plumes, the rush of fiery steeds, 
That wildly bound wherever courage leads, 
Heedless of dead or dying. Such things fill 
The bosom oft with an impassioned thrill. 
That robs it of a life-time of sweet dreams. 
To pour iuto their place the counter-streams 
Of Pride and of Ambition — and the throngs 
That follow after them. 

And there are songs 
That haunt the heart of manhood like a gush 
Of melting tenderness, heard in the hush 
Of twilight, summoning departed things 
Before the mind, upborne on spirit's wiugs 
From the far spirit-land. The fond, the true, 
The first affections our glad boyhood knew, 
So wound up with our being, that a thread 
Snapt rudely, well may lay us Avith the dead. 
To bloom on earth no longer ; and the bright 
Young hopes that fled so quickly out of sight, 
Soaring, e'en while we watched their rainbow dyeS, 
Like birds of paradise unto the skies ; 
These haunt the heart, where hope hath found a 

grave. 
Like music floating o'er a midnight wave, 
Mournful, yet beautiful, melting to tears 
The sterner passions of succeeding years, 
Koused but to be subdued. 



ROBERT OF NORMANDY. 67 

One strain, one strain! 
My spirit pines to hear tliem once again, 
The songs I loved in childhood! yet once more, 
I would drink in their sweetness ; I would pour 
My spirit out in the dear melody, 
And smile to call it a deliverance; I, 
Upon wliose brow they sought to place the crown 
Of high Jerusalem! I would lay down 
All knightly honors, but to hear one song. 
One little song of childhood, float along, 
From my own blessed land! I pine, I die, 
For thy free airs, my happy Normandy! 

False king and brother! have the years thus failed 
To wake thee to repentance? have they paled 
Thy cheek in vain, and left upon thy brow. 
Traces of change and suffering, such as bow 
The haughtiest hearts to earth? Have they o'er- 

thrown 
Hopes, born amidst the splendors of a throne ? 
My father's throne, my birth-right thou did'st 

claim, 
And for a brother's took a traitor's name, 
Linked unto conqueror. Thought'st thou of 

these. 
When the white ship went bounding o'er the seas. 
When Norman hearts were sunk, and Norman 

skies 
Looked on unweaponed hands, and downcast 

eyes ? 



68 ROBERT OF NORMANDY. 

Tliouglit'st thou of tliese, false king! thought'st 

thou of these, 
When fast the buoyant ship went o'er the seas, 
In gallant trim and gay ? Did not the cry 
That rose from those dark waves unto the sky, 
Find echo in thy heart ? Thy best beloved. 
Thy brave, thy beautiful, he, who had proved 
Worthy to wear a crown — my crown — beneath 
The waves of ocean sank ; he sank, and thou. 
As I, art desolate and hopeless now !* 
Thou didst lay down the name of friend and grasp 
With a strong hand — the same that once did clasp 
Mine own in fond affection — from my brow 
Fair England's crown ! 

I am avenged ! but, how, 
How bitter the revenge! — alone, alone! 
Within my spirit-depths I hear a tone 
That tells me, 'midst the splendors of thy state. 
And all the honors that around thee wait, 
Thou, too, art lonely! I, in this lone tower. 
Thou in the royalty of kingly power. 
Think, think we of each other ? 

Could T drill k 
Once more of thy cool waters — could I think, 
Even in my dreams, that thy blue, blessed skies, 
Were looking on me like a mother's eyes, 



* Prince Henry, the only son of Henry, was drowned in 
tlie passage home from Calais while attempting to rescue 
his sister from the waves. 



BOBEET OF NORMANDY. G9 

Tender and beautiful — I could forgive 

The wrongs that made me captive, and would live, 

My own dear land, for thee! would live for thee, 

Even in hopeless, stern captivity. 

But thou art distant far — I may not roam, 

Thy grove-crowned hills again — my own, my home, 

Fain would I lay my weary head upon 

Thy tranquil bosom — for the day is done, 

And night draws darkly round — and I would rest, 

Would rest in peace on thy maternal breast. 

But 0, for those sweet songs that haunt me yet, 
Like far-off music when the stars have set ; 
My soul will not forget them — they are wound 
So round my heart, and with my beiug bound, 
That to undo would break. I fain would hear 
Their melody once more upon my etir, 
And in my heart — ere from its prison-home. 
Like sea-bird floating homeward o'er the foam, 
My wearied soul escapes — I pine, I die, 
For thy familiar airs, my Normandy ! 




SELKIEK'S LIBERTY. 

Like to a sea-bird resting on her wings 
Urged forward by no effort of her own, 
But by the forward motion of the waves, 
The vessel passed 1 

With folded arms he stood 
Upon tlie wild sea-beach and watched the sails, 
One after one receding from his sight, 
And from his chosen home. The dark blue waves 
Swept with a gentle ripple to his feet, 
And passed in silence on their distant course. 
As if they knew his utter helplessness, 
And feeling for his coming agony — 
Like to magnanimous and generous foes, 
Scorned to remind him that he w^as alone. 
The sea-bird gazed with brightly curious eye 
Down from her rock-built fortress in the waves, 
To see what stranger thus presumed to break 
Her sea-bound solitudes ; then drawing back 
Her slender neck within her sheltered nest, 
She seemed well satisfied to think, at least. 
His was no hostile hand. The wild goat came, 
Gazed for a moment on his moveless form. 
Then turned away in quietness to seek 
The scanty herbage growing from the rocks. 



SELKIRK'S LIBERTY, 71 

He heeded not ; on pinions fleet as thought, 

His heart was fluttering round the one white 

. speck 
That floated in the distance, to his sight 
Just visible, and seeming like the foam 
That capped some mountain-wave. He gazed un- 
til 
His eye-balls ached with their intensity, 
And his strong heart was melted in the gaze, 
For in that dim and far-off object lay 
The only link connecting him with life. 

Slowly, as if inviting him to take 

One long, last look at her too graceful spars. 

Ere from his eager sight they passed away 

Eorever, like the beings of a dream, 

The vessel disappeared. 

Would she return ? 
A wild tumultuous hope throbbed at his heart 
One moment for an entrance, but a strange 
And sudden sense of freedom sent it back 
To its abiding place within his heart, 
A trembling fugitive. Eor he was free ; 
Free to do what ? To climb the precipice, 
To rival the wild animals in speed. 
To mock the sea-bird's cry! Yes, he was free 
To do all these — free to engage in that. 
Which would not summon forth observant eyes 
To mark with jealous caution his success. 
The precipice might throw her ledge of rocks . 



72 SELKIRK'S LIBERTY. 

Far out into the ocean; could not he 
Gain footing there, and seated on its verge, 
Think over his success and smile to think, 
That none was there, a witness to the feat? 

'Twas for a moment only, and his eye 
Turned with an eager and remorseful gaze 
To the far distance, where he last had marked 
The wanderer of the ocean. Anxiously 
He scanned the foamy crest of every wave, 
And found her not. She was no longer there. 
No more her tapering spars would greet his ej^es. 
Or white sails flutter in the morning-breeze 
Above his bead; no more the merry song 
Of the glad sailor-boy would thrill his heart, 
No more his comrades' voices fill his ear ! 
She was no longer there ! 

Wildly his glance 
Swept the expanse of ocean ! could it be, 
She would no more return ? 

The night came down, 
With noiseless footsteps from her upper throne, 
And folded to her bosom silently, 
The tranquil island and the heaving sea. 
The young stars one by one, came forth to gaze, 
Upon their beauty mirrored in the deep. 
And rock themselves to sleep upon her breast. 
Yet sound of lulling waters, nor the watch 
Of vigil stars, brought slumber to the eyes, 
Of him, wbo watched with an untiring gaze 



SELKIRK'S LIBERTY. 73 

The dark expanse of waters. Motionless, 

Like to a human being turned to stone, 

Whose heart was throbbing its last feeling out, 

In painful consciousness within his breast, 

He sat upon a rock that faced the spot, 

Where last he saw the vessel disappear. 

Eeturn, thou truant of the sea, return ! 

What strength but thine, can break the spell that 

binds, 
Soul, sense, and motion in its subtle folds ! 

Morn broke upon the ocean ! star by star, 
Gazed for a moment with retiring glance. 
Upon the gay young yisitant and withdrew, 
Behind their drapery of shining clouds. 
Till the next night should call them forth again. 
To their accustomed watch — yet brought she n(^t. 
The wished-for object to his straining eye. 

Then the full sense of utter loneliness, 
That his proud spirit would not comprehend 
Before, came rushing with unmeasured force 
Into his heart. He was, indeed, alone ! 
Ah ! who, even though the world is full of sin, 
Though falsehood walks about in robes of state, 
And truth is seldom found, would be alone ? 
No, rather let the sword oppose the sword, 
Man needs another foeman than himself, 
He may throw back the exulting tide of war, 
May stem the current on the battle field, 
4 



74 SELKIRK'S LIBERTY. 

But not the enemies within his heart. 

Shrinking from his own thoughts, he turns away, 

And gazing dimly on the far-off sea 

Of expectation, cheats himself with hope. 

Like him, who stood upon that lonely shore, 

And watched for her, who never would return. 

Lone dweller of the ocean ! hope no more ! 
She whose white sails are spread before the wind, 
Shall fold them gladly in the port of home, 
And tell no tale of thee! The light sea-breeze, 
That fans thy cheek with its reviving breath. 
And plays among the clusters of thy hair, 
Shall hear thy tale of muttered agony, 
And mindless of the suffering it unfolds. 
Will kiss the brows of those thou lovest well. 
And breathe no word of thee ! The wild, dark 

wave. 
That sweeps around thy lonely island home, 
Shall bear thy message of regret and love 
To those who watch for thee upon the shore 
Of far-off Scotland, and shall tell it not! 
Standing upon thy rocky isle, like him, 
The last lone being of humanity, 
Who looks despairing, half in hope, around 
For some remains of life — thou too dost look 
For that thou canst not see ! 

Yes, she was gone 
From that low shore forever! and from him. 
Who, in his haste to catch the first, fond look 



SELKIRK'S LIBERTY. , 75 

Of her expectant and returning sails, 
Out-stripped the wiugs of morning, and the steps 
Of shadowy night, to wliere the highest rock, 
Looked farthest out, above the ocean-depths. 

Hours came, and passed with heayy steps away, 
Laden with tears. Days followed in their ]3atb, 
Mournful with sighs; and staggering far behind, 
As over-burdened with their weight of woe, 
Years followed after, silent with despair. 
Yet there were moments, when his softened heart, 
Softened by tears and eloquent with sighs. 
Acknowledged it was good to be alone. 

Lo ! in the hidden depths of solitude. 

How many a stream breaks forth and fills the air 

With a sweet voice of melody and love ! 

And in the lonely hours of human life. 

When like a chained and prisoned being, man 

Is first compelled to think — how many a fount, 

Amidst the bitterness that makes the heart 

Even like a barren desert — ^gushes forth 

To light, and life, and energy and love ! 

When from the far-off island of the sea 

A strange ship touched the rocky strand, and 

brought 
Full many a w^ondering face upon her deck, 
They found him not alone. A voice had spokeii 
Amid the silent watches of the night. 



76 



SELKIRK'S LIBERTY. 



Within his heart, and chastened it to love. 
God talked to him, who converse held with noue, 
And when his feet pressed once again the soil 
Of his own land, and sought his kindred's home, 
'Twas with a prayerful and repentant heart. 



MUSIC-DEOPS. 

Deoppikg down ! Dropping down ! 
From the earth's encircling crown, 
From each light in it which gleameth, 
From each silver star that beameth, 
There are drops of music stealing, 
On each thought and on eacli feeling, 
Till a holy light enshrines us, 
Softening the chain that binds us, 
Dropping on ! Dropping on I 
Till the pain is almost gone, 

Welling up I Welling up ! 
From the flower's tiny cup, 
From the pure and crystal fountain, 
Daughter of the frowning mountain,— 
From the spangled frost that gleams. 
In the young morn's pensive beams. 
There are drops of music swelling, 
And within our bosoms dwelling, — 
Welling up ! Welling up ! 
Tempering life's bitter cup. 

Precious drops ! Precious drops ! 
From a source that never stops ; — 



78 MUSIC-LROPS. 

Where is he could upward look 
Upon heaven's starry book, 
Or bending o'er the lily's folds, 
Breathe the music that it holds, 
And not feel his spirit stirred 
As if angel-tones he heard, 
Dropping down ! Welling up ! 
Sweetening life's bitter cup? 



PAUL I. IN THE PEISON OF KOSCIUSKO. 

[One of the first acts of Paul, immediately on the death of 
the empress, was to visit Kosciusl^o in prison and assure him of 
his kindness and consideration. He gave him his liberty, and 
also offered him a pension, which the noble Pole indignantly 
refused.] 

He slept — the Polish warrior slept — and o'er his 

haunted mind 
Swept visions of departed days, the glorious, the 

unkind. 
When from his hearth the peasant rose, and from 

his hall the chief. 
And buckled on the sword, and vowed to die, or 

give relief; — 
For the f oeman's foot was on the soil, — the soil they 

called their own, — 
His arm suspended o'er their heads, his eye upon 

the throne. 

Once more upon the battle-field — once more upon 
the field, 

He stood the chosen one of all, the last one who 
would yield ; 

With love of country strong at heart, with cour- 
age in his eye, 

Reliance in his little band, and trust witliin the 
skv. 



80 PAUL I. IN THE PHLSOiV OF KOSCIUSKO. 

How conld he dread a world of foes^ who never yet 

knew dread, 
With Poland's soil beneath his feet, and heaven 

above his head ? 

He dreaded not — his heart was firm — his blade was 
tried and true. 

High on the chaiiiless winds of heaven, his conn- 
try's banner flew ; 

And brave men stood beneath its folds — the fearless 
and the free, 

Who to a foreign conqneror had never bent the 
knee ; 

In ho23e and strength renewed they came, as roused 
from long repose, 

And gathering to their chieftain's side, looked 
downward on their foes. 

Far from his frozen fields of snow, the fur-clad 

Eussian came, 
He saw before him pleasant fields, and left behind 

a flame, — 
A flame from every cottage-roof — a flame in every 

heart, 
"Where love of country had a home, or vengeance 

had a part, — 
Unconscious of opposing foes, like wild sea-Avaves 

they poured. 
To seize a fair defenceless realm, and met instead 

a sword! 



PAUL I. m THE PRISON OF KOSCIUSKO. gl 

And Prussia sent her battle-blast aloud upon the 
air — 

Was there no shout of anger heard, was there no 
thunder there? 

The land that Sobieski loved — his children, where 
were they, 

When like a vulture from the skies, she darted on 
her prey? 

Did they not meet her face to face, upstarting in 
her track? 

Well Szczekociny's fatal field could give the an- 
swer back! 

And faithless Austria too, was there, nor felt a 

blush of shame, 
That thus dishonor dark and dull, should stain her 

royal name. 
She grasped the sword — yet not for her who needed 

most her aid — 
She drew the sw^ord and in the dust her bleeding 

children laid ; 
When greater came, and trembled not to chain a 

peaceful land, 
Why should she fear to break her faith, or blush 

to seize the brand? 

'Twas night — the silent stars looked down upon a 

silent land, 
When issuing from a shadoAvy wood, came forth a 

little band : 



82 ^^4.f7Z I. IN THE PRISON OF KOSCIUSKO. 

The high of soul, the stern of heart, the strong 

of arm were there ; 
Beneath the stars, around their chief, they stood 

with heads all bare — 
Silent, while he, their leader spoke, with firm, yet 

solemn tone. 
Then each one drawing forth his blade, all crossed 

them with his own — 

^^K"ow swear by Him who rules above, and knoweth 

every thought, 
While Poland breathes the breath of life, ye will 

desert her not, 
And that dishonor's breath may blast your souls in 

every part, 
If, ere the foe hath bound these arms, your swords 

have failed this heart." 
They knelt upon the dark green grass, they took 

the oath he gave,* 
Then each one solemnly passed on, as passing to 

his grave. 

Now Poland, for thy battle cry! call all thy chil- 
dren forth ! 

* Before the last and fatal battle, iu wliicli the fate of 
Poland was forever sealed, Kosciusko, it is said, made his 
soldiers swear never to permit him to fall alive into the 
hands of his enemies. One of his men, seeing him fall back- 
wards on his horse, after receiving a wound, struck him on 
the head with his sabre, and left him for dead on the field 
of battle. 



PAUL I. m THE PUIS ON OF KOSCIUSKO. 8 J 

They stand upon thy every shore, the armies of the 
north : 

Pause not upon thy threshold-stones — a moment 
may be lost, 

Let not a tear bedim your eyes — defence is needed 
most ! 

Dispute their passage inch by inch— each battles 
for a home — 

Arm, Poland ! down upon thy plains the royal rob- 
bers come ! 

The morning broke — the sun arose and looked upon 

the earth. 
And saw the sight of bannered men, all armed 

and hurrying forth : 
The bravest of the land were there — the prince 

and peasant all, 
Went forth to win the battle-field — to win the field 

or fall ! 
They saw the foe on every side — they grasped the 

cup of life, 
And driukiug to the very dregs, rushed nobly to 

the strife ! 

The sun went down with closing eye, but the scene 

it looked on then. 
Was the rushing on of battle-steeds — the strife of 

desperate men ; 
From morn till night they mixed in fight, and 

toiled, and bled, and died — 



84 PA UL I. /iV THE PRISON OF KOSCIUSKO. 

Some in the morning of their days, some in their 

noon of pride! 
They recked not of the days to come — they 

thought not of the past, 
This was the day of days to them, the fatal and 

the last! 

And Kosciusko! where was he, when on that field 

of death. 
The bravest of his friends sunk down, and yielded 

up their breath? 
He! in the thickest of the fight — with broken 

blade in hand. 
He led them on against the foe — that death-de- 

Yoted band! 
He saw the royal standard fall — above his head a 

gleam, 
The quick, bright flashing of a sword — he started 

— 'twas a dream ! 

It was a dream ! but how like life! he wakened 

but to feel : 
The next succeeding act was made of wounds that 

would not heal ! 
Of her, his country — of her fate, he needed none to 

tell ; 
The clank of cliains upon his heart in mournful 

echo fell! 
And to his bosom andibly — too audibly it came, 
A sound, like to a dying groan, in answer to her 

name ! 



PAUL I. IN THE PRISON OF KOSCIUSKO. 85 

The inmate of a dungeon-cell ! must he, forever 

bound 
In darkness aud in chains, be doomed to hear no 

other sound? 
Must these forever fill his dreams, and to his wak- 

ino- thouo-ht, 
Distinctly summon back the things that fain would 

be forgot ? 
Alas ! poor countrj^ ! well for him, if, ere thy sad 

decline, 
Thy earth had sanctified his rest — his dust had 

mixed with thine ! 



The dungeon -doors were open thrown — and 

standing face to face. 
Were they, the Polish chieftain, and the crowned 

one of his race ! 
Calmly and steadily they gazed into each other's 

eye, 
As seeking there the trace to find — ^the trace of 

royalty ! 
And Paul in all his pride of power, looked not so 

noble then. 
As Kosciusko in his chains — a prisoner of men ! 

Yet a noble impulse stirred his heart, too often 

turned to wrong, 
To set liim free, who bore his fate with fearless 

heart and strong ! 



86 PAUL I. m THE PRISON OF KOSCIUSKO. 



And openiug wide liis prison-gate, lie bade him go 

once more, 
And seek the freedom that he loved, on whatsoever 

shore ; 
But alas, for Kosciusko ! the boon was all in vain, 
While Poland gasped in chains, how could he ever 

smile again? 



mesouranI:ma. 

Bend oyer me ! bend with your radiant skies, 
0, land of the heart's own paradise ! 
I have lived too long amidst drooping flowers, 
I pine for the light of thy golden hours ; 
For the sunshine that maketh the heart a home, 
Where shadow hath never dared to come ; 
For the fragrance that liveth upon the air, 
And maketh the bosom its place of prayer; 
For the smile that hovers upon the lips, 
And is never dimmed by the heart's eclipse ; 
And those glorious strains that ever seem 
But pinions to some delightful dream. 
That beareth us up from the earth away, 
To the purer light of a perfect day ! 

Bend over me! bend with your smiling skies, 
O, land of diviner harmonies ! 
Our world hath never a sound of mirth, 
But is filled with the dreaminess of earth ; 
Our fingers have never touched a chord. 
But a mornful prelude abroad was poured ; 
No strain may over our waters creep. 
But maketh us turn aside and weep, 
For our "bosom's lord" is seldom glad, 
And the sweetest music is always sad, 



88 MESOVRANEMA. 

A shadow is ever before our eyes, 

Like a ghost of regretful memories, 

That hideth the future from our sight, 

And points us back to a starless night, 

Where no theme breaks over that world of ours, 

But the cheerless one of mis-spent hours. 

Bend over me I bend with your tender skies, 
0, land of sublimer sympathies ! 
Too much, too much have our spirits known. 
The sunshine and shadow around them thrown! 
Too long have we lived on the smiles of earth. 
Too long have we wandered ^nid hollow mirth ! 
The hearts that should love us, too soon grow 

cold, 
The feelings that nerve us too soon grow old ! 
And we learn to think that the world is fair, 
Yet false as the falsest being there, 
As April skies ; and changeful skies. 
Are not so dreary as changeful eyes ! 

I have thought, ! beautiful clime, of thee. 
When the stars looked earthward in brilliancy ! 
When thy flowers appeared through their silver 

dew, 
As if a heaven were shining through ; — 
And I wondered then, if thy shores could be, 
As the star, so far from earth and me ; 
If thy skies were only fabled skies-, 
Removed for aye from our longing eyes ; 



MESOURASE^IA. 89 

If the breath of each aromatic gale, 
Were but the theme of a poet's tale ; 
If the beauty that dwelt upon thy plains, 
Were found alone in his music-strains, 
And the glory that like to heayen did seem, 
Were nothing else than an idle dream ! 

I ha^e thought of thee in the morning-light, 

I have dreamed of thee in the silent night ; 

And as I stood beneath thy skies. 

And gazed in the depths of loving eyes, 

My heart was filled with a strange perfume, 

When I saw thy flowers around me bloom ; — 

Those tell-tale flowers, that ever speak 

Of the heart, like a blush on woman's cheek! 

They could not live in a colder clime, 

They would perish away with the things of time ; 

And leave not even a leaf to tell, 

The language they used to speak so well ! 

And I saw thy fountains around me rise, 
Pure, like the light of thy children's eyes — 
And methought that the spirit of truth therein 
Had dwelt since the world had stmk in sin ; 
And that lingering long by the sacred shrine. 
Thy children had drunk of the draught divine : 
I thought, could the fountain of youth be 

found. 
It was here alone, on this peaceful ground, 
Where the heart and the eyes are always young, 
And innocence ever upon the tongue ; 



9 ^^ESO URANEMA. 

Where no hate hath stirred and no anger moved 
The heart to err from the lips beloved. 

And thy thousand suns above me shone, 
And thy thousand odors abroad were blown, 
As I looked from earth to thy realm above, 
I wondered not that all was love, 
For beauty was over me and around, 
And there was sweetness in every sound ; 
Iso clarion-voice was upon the air. 
Telling of battle or triumph there ; • 
No tents were spread o'er the peaceful plain. 
There was no wailing over the slain ; — 
Thou never hadst felt the need of war, 
Nor wast ever dazzled by glory's star ! 

Bend over me then, with thy loving skies, 
0, land of the heart's own paradise ! 
I long for the breath of thy perfumed gales, 
For the beauty that lingers within thy vales ; 
I long for the truth that alone is found, 
On every spot of thy hallowed ground ; 
Tor thy flowers that speak of affection, true 
As the heaven above them, as lasting too ; 
For love's own dwelling, where we may find 
Innocence saint-like in every mind, — 
Bend over me, bend with your golden hours, 
Or my heart will die, amidst dying flowers ! 



A NIGHT AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

Moois"LiGHT upon the mountains, softly bright ! 
The green leaves quiver in the silvery light, 
Shed from the starry heavens round me rise 
These monuments of countless centuries 
Gone to decay — more strong and stately now. 
Than when the first green crown set on each 

brow, 
Told of imperial triumph — uninscribed, 
They tower around, as if the past had bribed 
Them into silence of its stormy tale ; 
As if the dark leaf and the midnight gale, 
Had found no tongue to whisper of its fate 
So glorious, yet so stern and desolate. 

I hear them now I strange voices on the wind, 
Come to the haunted chambers of my mind, 
Lessening its power of thought. Bright images, 
Shaped in the mind, yet born of melodies 
Lost in the mighty past, before me rise. 
Changeful as visioned dreams of paradise ; 
And in the dim, uncertain light, I trace 
Slowly uprising from their burial-place 
Within the wood — the nameless kings of old, 
Whose veins, once fall of life, have long been 
cold 



92 A NIGHT AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

Beneath the green -sward, and whose march to 

fame 
Has left upon their tomhs, not even a name. 

Around me, flashing m the moon's large light, 

I see the sharp sword glitter ; and the flight 

Of arrows from the shadow of each tree 

Telleth that death asserts his mastery. 

The air is teeming with the things forgot, 

The themes of buried ages ; every spot 

Of earth is hallowed ground ; dyed with the 

blood 
Of martyrs — martyrs they, who bravely stood, 
And battled for their country. They who died, 
Beside the stream, or on the green hill-side. 
Where'er death met them, sanctified the earth 
On which they died, and that which gave them 

birth ! 

Hark! 'tis the sound of music ! I will stand 
And list a moment to the forest-band, 
Striking its thousand strings of melody. 
Solemnly musical from each green tree ! 
The sound of sweet-voiced waters sendeth far 
Its song melodiously — from every star 
A spirit looks, until my bosom thrills 
"With their unspeakable love ! 

Harp of the hills ! 
Thou of the many strings, thy tones are full 
Of mournful feeling; strangely beautiful 



A NIGHT AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 93 

Are thy unnumbered airs, so softly sad 

That even the heart, while weeping, they make 

glad. 
How my heart swells within me! I have heard 
Even in the language of a little bird, 
A whisper as from G-od within my soul. 
Waking strange thoughts that defied control ; 
And here the mountain-torrent speaks aloud, 
Full of deep eloquence — the heavens are bowed, 
The stars look down from their high homes 

above, 
Calmly, religiously ! — a voice of love 
Is whispering all around, sweet as the breeze. 
Yet mighty as the swelling of the seas, 
When their wide bosoms heave tumultuously, 
With inward passions, struggling to be free ! 



The red deer boundoth past ; I hear it brtish 
The green leaves at my side ; I hear the rush 
Through the deep forest— yet I linger here ! 
The sound of falling waters on my ear 
Hath poured wild music — I have learned to love 
The things of nature as I aimless rove, 
'Mid their dim majesty ; they breathe a tone, 
Of deep solemnity that speaks alone 
To' the worn spirit, weary of the strife 
It ever holdeth with the outward life ; 
Till soothed with sympathy it drops to rest. 
Slumbering like peace upon its Maker's breast ! 



94 ^ NIGHT AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

A place for prayer! here where the strong oaks 

twine 
Their arms together — where the forest-vine; 
Clinging like faithful love around her dead, 
Forms of itself a bower : overhead, 
Through the thick foliage, far and faintly gleam 
The sky's unnumbered stars : like a sweet dream, 
The rill goes singing in the old moon's light, 
Gladdening beneath its rays — here when the 

night 
Falls gently round me, I would raise my voice 
To Heaven, to bid the "wilderness rejoice," 
And in its love divine, send to the dry 
And barren heart a " day-spring from on high ! " 

Here would I raise an altar ; loneliness 

Should brood like peace around me : I would 

bless 
The solitary hour, that gives to life 
Strength to endure the trials of its strife ; 
And tears should be my offering. Who hath not 
Some unforgotten sin, o'er which his thought 
Hath pined in secret ? 

And here too, the dim. 
Deep woods should echo to my vesper-hymn, 
And the wild bird would answer from the tree, 
Pouring its notes of free-born melody, 
Nature's own minstrel ; here a cross should 

stand, 
To point the traveller to a better land. 



A NIGHT AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 95 

And they, the dead, , would they not hover 

round, 
Inyisible ? would not the air abound, 
With spirit- voices — voices of the dead? 
I deemed of yore were forever fled 
To heaven, or lingered round their place of 

birth, 
The only worshipped spot on all the earth. 
For warm, devoted hearts — and yet a thrill, 
A consciousness that they are with me still, 
Where'er I may be, rushes o'er my soul, 
Filling with reverential awe the whole, 
Till, like a load of fragrance on the air, 
I feel them spiritually every where. 

And I am humbled ! though I prized them well, 
I prized them not enough : we cannot tell 
How much we love the living, till the thread 
Of life is snapped, and they are with the dead. 
Then the remembrance of each uttered word. 
Cold or neglectful, from its depths is stirred. 
And drooping heavily across the heart, 
A shadow falls that will not thence depart. 
It is the ghostly feeling of regret. 
That haunts the bosom when all hope has set 
Of restitution. We may call the dead. 
But will they answer to the tears we shed ? 

And yet they hover round us constantly. 
To witness our repentance ; though we see 



96 ^ NIGHT AMONG TH'E MOUNTAINS. 

Them not, their wings .are o'er ns in the night, 
Guarding our slumbers; angels of the light, 
They tend ns and we know it not ; they bless 
Our earth-worn spirits with their tenderness, 
Subduing them to meekness. Did we know, 
Or could we only feel, that even so. 
Affection known too late will wear the heart 
With vain repinings, we might tear apart. 
The seeming coldness that divides too long 
Warm hearts that perish like a gush of song. 

Beautiful, beantifnl, above me shine 

Heaven's countless host. So on my bosom's shrine 

Bright stars arise, that ever shed a beam 

Of pensive light across my being's dream. 

Yet where are they, the tender and the bright, 

That perished from my bosom yester-night ? 

Lost Pleiads, ever striking on the lyre 

Of mournful recollection, could the fire 

That once burnt in you, spring to life once 

more, 
You would not thus haunt memory's distant 

shore, 
But bounding upward, take your places, first 
Of all that on my thoughtful vision burst. 

Aid from above ! my soul is sorrowful 
AVith many things. Too full of pain, too full, 
Is our life's measure, yet we need it all : 
More gentle means would fail to break the 
thrall 



A NIGHT AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 97 

That binds us so to earth; and we must drink 
The cup with meekness, or despairing sink ! 
Heaven proves us ; painfully auction's rod 
O'ertakes us, bidding us return to God, 
Nor wander thence again ; a precious soul 
Is in our keeping we should well control, 
And fit for heaven. Unto so great a trust 
Can we be faithless, ti'eading it to dust ? 

The day-star dawneth ! I have mused too long 
Upon the hills. I hear the wildbird's song 
Welcome the morn ; the dew is on the flowers, 
Strengthening them for the hot noon-tide hours, 
So hopefully upon my heart I find 
The dews of meditation ; I will bind 
Their purity around me, and go forth 
In strength and holiness ; the things of earth 
May bend but will not break my spirit; a light 
Still shines from heaven across the darkest 

night. 
And lead by it gently, upward, the tired soul 
Will rest at last beyond the world's control. 




TO AFFLICTION. 

J. C. D. 

Life is fair ! ! how fair, 
When the heart is free from care ; 
When the flowers of love full-blown 
All around our paths are strown ; 
When afiection's soothing voice, 
Bids the hopeful heart rejoice ; 

Then the earth we love, 
Seeking treasures in its dross, 
Seeking pleasures in its loss. 

Turning from above. 

But when grief, with all her train, 
Bring us tears and heart- wrung pain ; 
W^hen the leader's voice of sorrow 
Tells of darker Avoes to-morrow ; 
When the flower of love is broken, 
When is lost affection's token. 

Then we look above ! 
Seeking treasure pure and bright, 
Seeking pleasure in the light 

Of God's smile of love ! 



TO Ai'FLICTIOK 



99 



Oome, then, come ! affliction sore ! 
I will welcome thee once more ; 
In the heart of pleasure, mine 
Found a heavier chain than thine ; 
Wounding with a poisoned dart, 
Thou dost soften every heart, 

Leading us above, 
To the pleasure found alone 
For the suppliant at His throne, 

In God's smile of love ! 



OTGHT-MUSIO. 

Whejs^ce comes this thrilling music. 

Borne on the wings of night ? 
So soft, so sweet, it seems the sound 

Made by a spirit's flight. 
It steals upon the waters. 

It lingers on the air, 
As if it sought companionship 

With sister-spirits there. 

Whence is its journeying ? whither 

Will its sweet sound die away ? 
It falls, then rising, falls again, 

So tender, yet so gay, 
That like to fairies' music, 

It sports upon the gale. 
Or like, perchance, the melting strains 

Told in a lover's tale. 

! on the wings of fancy 

My soul is borne along. 
Gay voices ring upon the air. 

Bright visions round me throng, 
Aiding to bear me onward. 

To the land of bright romance. 
To meet the thrilling witchery 

Of beauty's magic glance. 



mOHT-MUlSIC. 10 J 

Dark eyes around me flashing, 

Drink many a poison in ; 
And wreathing smiles and kindling cheeks 

Flash forth the soul within, 
With raven tresses floating 

O'er many a snowy brow, 
And hearts that to a jeweled crown 

Would scarcely deign to bow. 

I see the moon- lit waters 

Sleep 'neath a starry sky, 
And slowly sweeps the mid-night breeze 

On lagging pinions by ; 
As if so much of beauty, 

Were resting 'neath its wing, 
It longed to pause and breathe a sigh 

O'er every sleeping thing. 

Hark! to the swift gondola. 

Hark ! to the muffled oar, 
They skim the surface of the waves, 

They glance along the shore. 
Unheeding and unheeded 

They keep their trackless course, 
As if some secret thought impelled 

With a resistless force. 

Still in each darkened passage 

They find their hidden track ; 
There, where the swift gondola casts 

Not even a shadow back. 



102 mGHT-MUSlC. 

Bears it the dead or dying ? 

Is crime upon the tide? — 
That hearse-like canojiy might well 

Some direful secret hide. 

Before yon lofty palace 

'Tis floating now at rest ; 
Bear the calm waters fearful things 

Upon their tranquil breast? 
For lo ! it takes its station 

In the column's shadowy space; 
Holds it such sympathy with gloom, 

To seek no brighter place? 

Yet hark ! those strains of music, 

So thrilling — so divine ! 
Come they from where yon sparkling waves, 

In fitful radiance shine? 
Or gives yon dark gondola 

Such magic to the ear ? 
How fall and rich and passionate, 

'Tis swelling upwards there ! 

Is it a lover breathing 

Words by devotion made, 
K"o other ear but love's may hear 

The midnight serenade? 
For this he seeks the shadow, 

For this he skims the wave, 
And the secret mission in his heart, 

Is hid as in a grave. 



NIGHT-MUSIC. 103 

Can the witching heart of beauty 

Eefuse to hear the call, 
To pay deYotion what it owes, 

And render thrall for thrall? 
! love, and true love only, 

Dwells in the silent heart ; 
The haughty show, the outward pomp 

Can bear in it no part. 

The strain has ceased. 0, music ! 

How thou dost play with thought ! 
Can dreams of Venice to us bring. 

The light of things forgot? , 
Gone is thy day of glory, 

Bird of the folded wings ; 
City of griefs ! thou art indeed 

The grave of glorious things. 




THE POET-LOVER. 

The wild bird shook lier joyous wing, 
Where close beside the clear, cool spring, 
The poet-lover paused to sing. 

The pride of old, heroic days. 
But from his lyre no sound arose. 
Of deathless deeds, and daring foes. 
For lyre, like master, sought repose, 

In love's serener, softer rays. 
Scarcely was heard a single sound, 
In all that wide, extended ground, 
Yet stern old trees were scattered round. 

Lifting their gloomy heads on high ; 
And on their cold and earthen beds, 
The meek-eyed violets drooped their heads, 
Stealing through broad-leaved palisades, 

Shy glances at the sky. 
The poet marked their azure hue, 
And thought upon one eye of blue. 
And to his bosom gently drew, 

One little flower of constancy. 
" token of true love," he cried, 
"Thou treasurest in thy heart no pride, 
Yet evil may thy life betide, 

If left upon the earth to lie." 
The poet saw the wild rose bring 
Her leafy oflering to the spring — 
" passion-leaves," he cried, " why fling 



THE POET-LOVER. I05 

Your fragrance on the feeble wave ? 
Why yield to them, who will not seek, 
Why answer them, who will not speak ? " 
He thought upon a young rose-cheek, 

And snatched them from a certain grave. 

He heard the wild wave's melody 
Float on mysterious pinions by, 
As if an angel hovered nigh. 

And caught the music from the stream, 
Half sad, half solemn, half sublime, 
Stealing upon the steps of time ; 
Sounding at every step a chime. 

Like strange, wild music of a dream. 

"0, haunted spring,'^ he cried, "how long 
Shall I sit listening to thy song, 
And mark the spirit-shadows throng. 

All dim and indistinct within ? 
I've heard on this enchanted ground, 
A thousand changeful voices round ; 
Yet cannot recollect one sound, 

Of all my thirsty soul drank in. 

" I've striven long — still strive in vain — 
To catch one single music-strain ; 
They rise and float within my brain, 

Like strangers on a foreign strand ; 
A glance half- treasured, and no more, 
A longing for a journey o'er — 
A backward look along the shore, 

And then the joys of fatherland ! 
5* 



106 '^^-^^ POET- L O VER. 

^Tve caught the rose's changeful dye. 
I've found where meek-eyed violets lie, 
Eemembrances of cheek and eye, 

Nought else resembles, love of mine ! 
Yet, Blanche ! the wild wave's voice tome, 
Is a remembrancer of thee, 
Full of the heart's own minstrelsy, 

It speaks in music,. only thine. 

*' I cannot sing as I have sung, 
Of life's gay cavaliers among. 
Where banner waved and bugle rung. 

When gallant Hotspur took the field — 
Breathed life into the cause he framed, 
The hand of valiant Douglas claimed, 
Invoked one ^ Esperance,' and named 

His own brave heart his only shield. 

" Ah, me ! the venerated lays, 

That tell of old, heroic days. 

When Wallace bound the mingled bays. 

Of death and glory round his brow ! 
I did not think another strain. 
Could ever cause them call in vain ; 
Or drive from this enchanted brain, 

The sounds that haunted it till now ! 

" The shouts of wild exciting war, 
The blaze of crimson glory's star. 
And of the proud, triumphal car, 
Borne in the front of victory — 



THE POET-LOVER. 107 

The midniglit watcli — ^the wild alarms, 
The clang of conflicts and of arms, 
War's many and exulting charms, 
I turn from them — to sing of thee ! 

" ' I am alone, yet thou art here, 
Listening with an attentive ear, 
A spiritual presence near. 

Which, ever felt, I cannot see. 
Thou meetest me in woody dell, 
Thou meetest me by flood and fell, 
Even in the lonely prison-cell, 

Thy soft, blue eyes are turned on me. 

" ^ My sweet Egeria, in thine eyes 

I see a thousand fancies rise, 

Too pure to dwell beneath the skies, 

AVhere mind is like an ocean-shell. 
That thrown upon the barren earth, 
Sendeth a moaning music forth. 
Yet ever of mysterious birth. 

For none the ocean-strains can tell. 

*•' 'The gathered sounds shall all be thine, 
Poured out in numbers on the shrine. 
That I have consecrated mine. 

Thou, Blanche, alone canst tell how long! 
For thou hast changed my spirit's tone. 
And caused my simple lyre alone, 
To breathe thy name, and made thine own. 

The very music of my song.' " 



LOUISE. 

[It is said that the death-bed of Beethoven was attended only 
hy a pupil of his own, a girl named Louise, who toiled for his sup- 
port, he heino- in utter destitution. Like many a genius before 
him, he acquired more friends after death, when he needed tliera 
not, than during life.] 

'TwAS midnight; from the solemn skies above, 
The starry sentinels looked down in love 
Upon the world below. All earth was fair, 
And blessedness alone seemed reigning there; 
The flowers glanced upward to the tranquil skies, 
And seemed to worship with admiring eyes 
The shining host above. The soft breeze crept 
Through quivering leaves, and o'er the waters 

swept, 
Sounding its low-toned harp — so sw^eet the song, 
An angel might have brushed the strings along, 
And passed, invisible to mortal sight, 
Upon the heavenward sound. 

It was a night 
For the high soul to revel in, and pour 
Its treasures out, and pass to come no more ; 
For the pure heart to watch beside the dead, 
And almost fancy that it heard the tread. 
Of seraph-feet around. And who is she, 



LOUISE. 109 

That pale, fair gii'l, who bends so mournfully 
Above yon sufferer's couch I she, whose dark eye 
Is filled with tears to think lie thus should die, 
He of the high-toned heart, should die alone, 
With none beside herself to hear the moan 
From his expiring lips — to hear some note 
Of sudden melody a moment float 
Upon the air, then pass to Heaven away, 
Like the sweet song of birds ere break of day ; 
Or as some soul longing to leave its prison, 
Sent the glad note for which the angels listen. 

The weary days passed by with heavy tread. 

As if they wished to linger for the dead ; 

The hearse-like night moved on, and seemed to 

wait 
With solemn touch and melancholy gait. 
For the expected guest — the hours crept by. 
And loitered to receive his latest sigh ; 
Yet still she watched beside that bed of death, 
Caught his last glance and heard his last drawn 

breath; 
And when she knew his sun of life had set. 
Poured forth her song of sorrow and regret. 

^^ Alone beside the dead ! alone 

Beside the dreamless dead ! 
With not a voice beside mine own 

To wail the spirit fled, 



110 LOUISE. 

To tell of all thy greatness past, 
How fortune o'er thee frowned, 

Till thy proud spirit broke at last, 
0, master of sweet sound ! 

" Speak to me yet once more ! I long 

To hear thy Yoice again ; 
Methinks pale phantoms round me throng. 

Ah ! must I call in vain ! 
Charm them, I pray thee, from my sight; 

I dread to be alone, 
With the dim spectres of the night, 

Close gathering round thine own ! 

" Thou wast not wont to be so still 

E'en in the face of wrong; 
Why has thy bosom ceased to thrill 

To the sweet voice of song ? 
I've seen the flashing of thine eye, 

The mantling of thy cheek, 
Whilst dreaming o'er the melody. 

Thy lips alone could speak ? 

*' Spent, spent at last ! the gifted heart 

Is silent, throbless now ; 
The mind that brought Avith sudden start 

The life-blood to the brow. 
Is powerless as tlie breeze that flies 

Along the ocean's breast, 
When not a cloud is in the skies, 

And every sail at rest. 



LOUISE. Ill 

'• Yet it hath brought upon its wings 

Sweet echoes, from the shore 
Of many a sunny isle that rings 

With music evermore ? 
Such was tliy mind, glorious one, 

A realm of endless sound, 
A gush — a murmur and a moan 

That poured wild music round. 

" And men passed by, and heard thee not, 

The great ones and the gay, 
Nor knew thy bursting heart was fraught 

"With glory and decay ; 
For well I know thy heart expired 

With the last sound it wrought ; 
And well I know thy soul was tired 

Of such a world of thought ! 

" Is this the fate of Oenius ? want, 

And penury, and woe ? 
Must they the gifted bosom haunt. 

And swell it to overflow ? 
Then will my steps be never found 

Where thou, Fame ! art nigh. 
Since the great master of sweet sound, 

Beethoven, thus did die." 

She paused, and bending o'er tbe pulseless dead. 
Closed the dull eye whence all the soul had fled ; 
Then kneeling humbly, murmured forth a prayer 
For the tired soul that w^as no longer there ! 



112 



LOUISE. 



I know not of her farther, for her name 
Dwells not upon the living scroll of fame, 
Save as the faithful heart that hovered nigh, 
And paused to catch Beethoven's latest sigh. 



'' LOCHABAR NO MORE." 

["The Scotch are celebrated for their attachment to their 
national airs. I have somewhere read an incident of a couple 
of Scotchmen, who being wrecked ou the shores of South 
America, were compelled to remain there some length of time, 
owing to their not being able to obtain a passage home. When, 
at length, this difficulty was obviated, one of them, having be- 
come captivated by the people of the country and their indo- 
lent manner of living, determined on remaining. His compan- 
ion made no effort to persuade him from this decision. Seating 
himself by his side, he began, in a low and plaintive tone, that 
most touching of all their native melodies, "Lochabar no 
more." As the song proceeded, the listener became evidently 
much affected, and by the time it was concluded, his face was 
bathed in tears. It was enough — he left the Eldorado of his 
dreams, and returned to lay his bones beside those of his kin- 
dred."] 

A GUSH of thrilling memories 

That would not rest again, 
Till all unclosed his spirit's eyes : 

Came with that sudden strain 
The echo of returning feet, 

Voice of familiar song, 
The hearth-stone, the accustomed seat. 

And friends remembered long. 

He heard soft voices, as of old, 

Call at the eventide; 
He saw the white clouds, fringed with gold, 

Move on in fleecy pride. 



114 LOCHABAR NO MORE. 

And, bright as those which monarchs wear, 

Tinged with a sun-set glow,. 
Upon the head of Loch-na-gair, 

He saw his crown of snow. 

And borne upon the whispering breeze 

When evening skies were dim, 
The song of birds amidst the trees 

Came pleasantly to him. 
And the sound of gushing waters fell 

On his attentive ear. 
The same his boyhood loved so well 

In woodland haunts to hear. 

Waving its palm-like hands on high, 

The stately fir-tree rose, 
Like a proud chief triumphantly, 

Amidst admiring foes. 
He trod the precipice's brow. 

Where oft in wayward mood. 
He gazed into the depths below, 

At the down-rushing flood. 

The elm-tree calmly raised its head, 

Towards the o'er-arching blue, 
And on his father's humble shed 

A friendly shadow threw ; 
And humble flowers looked up to him 

With tearful, earnest eyes. 
When tremblingly the evening hymn 

Swelled upw^ard towards the skies 



LOGHABAR NO MORE. \\q 

A thousand saddened memories, 

That knew no name nor place, 
Like friends with tearful, downcast eyes, 

And hesitating pace, 
Came to his heart reproachfully. 

And told of former hours, 
"When vows were made beneath the sky, 

And witnessed by the flowers. 

He heard familiar yoices tell 

Of many a deed of fame, 
Of the land that Wallace loved so well, 

That sung the Bruce's name. 
And he saw their plaided hosts upstart, 

In menacing array. 
As old tradition o'er his heart, 

Resumed her ancient sway. 

The vision passed, and mournfully 

He thought upon the graves. 
Of those whose lot it was to die, 

Beyond the dark blue waves. 
And the sky above was bright no more, 

The flowers no longer fair. 
The dreams that filled his heart were o'er, 

And memory only there. 

And he returned, at last to sleep 

Upon his country's breast, 
To lie, where kindred eyes might weep 

Above his place of rest. 



116 



LOCHABAR NO MORE. 



Where he once more, in life, might hear 
That soul-subduing strain — 

Beloved lips breathe in his ear, . 
'* Lochabar " once again. 



AFFEOTIOK 



Affegtion", to the human heart, 

Is what the dew is to the flower ; 
It strengthens still the weaker part, 

And gives to all a truer power. 
If, lost amid the wildering light 

That lures astray, our hearts may roam- 
That star, amidst the cheerless night. 

Leads us to happiness and home. 



[t is a pearl no wealth can buy, 

But that which from true honor flows; 
[ts home is in the deep dark eye, — ■ 

Its strength within the bosom glows. 
Not all the power that splendor brings. 

Can tempt its peaceful light aside ; 
'Neath softer skies it folds its wings — 

With life itself it is allied. 

His life has many happy hours, 
"Who, wandering in a foreign land. 

Can gather fancy's choicest flowers 
And bid them blossom in his hand ; 



118 



AFFECTION. 



But happier he, at home who lives, 
And, when life's early hopes depart, 

Can take the buds affection gives, 
And bid them blossom round his heart. 



EEGRETS. 

Forever here — however bright 

The morn of life may be, 
However swift our bark may glide 

O'er pleasure's sunny sea, 
A shadow follows in our steps, 

And speaks imploringly. 

Of lost affections hear it speak. 
Such as the world ne'er gave, 

Torn ruthlessly from out the heart 
That could, and would not, save : 

It wraps a shroud around them all, 
And drops them in the grave. 

And from their dust strange faces rise, 

All cheerless and alone, 
That murmur iji our ears a changed 

And yet familiar tone, 
And phantoms wander by our side, 

And make our walks their own. 

No matter whether in the sun. 

Or 'neath the greenwood tree ; 
No matter howsoever light 



120 REGRETS. 

Or stern our mood may be ; 
That shadow follows in our steps. 
And speaks continually. 

Of wasted moments hear it tell, 
Thrown by neglectfully, 

And thickly as the dry, dull sands 
Along a summer-sea — 

Ah ! shining dust, how rich were all, 
Could ye but gathered be ! 



But gone forever from the shore 

Of careless human life, 
Untasted joys that keep no more 

The cup of feeling rife ; 
We catch at shadows and lose all 

The substance in the strife. 

So toil we on from hour to hour, 

Still fearful of delay. 
Dropping at every step some flower 

That cheer'd us on the way. 
And gathering tears within our hearts 

To shed another day. 

Yet still, at every step we take, 

By shore or sunny sea. 
When life is wrapped in weariness, 



THOSE EYES. 121 

When life is "bounding free, 
That shadow follows in our steps, 
And speaks reproachfully. 



THOSE EYES. 

Ha YE they no bottom to their depths, 
Those eyes, those well-like eyes of thine ? 

I long to see an image there — 
Perchance I may see mine. 

So softly still, so deeply blue. 

Like skies with starry gems inset, 

Looking in troubled beauty down, 
They gaze upon one yet. 

I would, I would that I might trace 
Some little passion in those eyes — 

Might see one single imaged face 
Upon their surface rise ! 

Like hieroglyphics, traced with care 
On antique monumental stone, 

I see a world of meaning there. 
Yet can decipher none. 

Tve heard it said that eyes were made 
The mirrors of the human soul ; 

But upon thine a spell is laid ; 
Thy heart hath learned control. 



122 TRIALS. 

Down to thy heart I would look through 
Those telescopic eyes of thine ; 

Perchance some face might meet my yiew- 
Ferchance I might see mine. 



A SIGH. 

It rose on the unconscious air, 
So still it woke no echo there ; 
But, w^afted upwards, pass'd on high, 
And bore its message to the sky. 

Perchance it told of grief and pain, 
Of hopes that ne'er would bloom again; 
Perchance it pleaded to high heaven, 
For sins that longed to be forgiyen. 

It might have told of one or all — 
We hear not angels' footsteps fall — 
We only know it woke in pain, 
And passed, aud came not back again. 



TEIALS. 

If thou hast felt un kindness 

From the friend thou lovest best, 

Let the memory of it pass away 
Foreyer from thy breast. 



THE DEPARTED. 123 

Why should we stop to gather 

Ills on the shore of life, 
When the sail is set to bear us on, 

From bitterness and strife ? 

Though words severe and pointed 

Upon thine ear yet dwell, 
Eemember that we cannot see 

The motives that impel : 
There are shadows in the wild wood. 

And shadows on the wall. 
And shadows in the human heart, 

Far darker than them all. 

There are ills that haunt us ever, 

E'en in life's early morn, 
That circle wider every day. 

And leave us more forlorn. 
Yet look thou ever upward, 

With a faithful heart and true. 
And the good angel at the helm 

Will guide thee safely through. 



THE DEPAETED. 

Tk vain, in these deserted rooms, 
I listen for their echoing tread ; 

Alone the faithful wild-flower blooms 
Over each lonely sleeper's head. 



124 2'i^-fc^ DEPARTED. 

Their foot-marks from the earth have gone, 
They live but in the worshipped past — ■ 

Hushed is each dearly treasured tone, 
Silent each wandering wish, at last ! 

Thej sleep in peace, but oh, how long 

Will mourning hearts proclaim their worth, 
And dwell on each remembered song. 

Above their consecrated earth ! 
The songs that lisping children loved, 

The heart may syllable once more. 
When the still lip and eye have proved 

Their latest earthly task is o'er! 

Yet oh, on each deserted spot. 

What shadowy images arise ! 
Each flower and quivering leaf seems fraught 

With love's delicious memories ; 
Affection's kindly uttered word, 

Affection's sympathizing eye, 
Oome in the song of woodland bird — 

Come from the over-arching sky. 

They sleep ! but there are some who sleep 

And dream of the departed dead, 
Till slumber's eye hath learned to weep. 

And slumber's blessedness hath fled; 
Yet will the day awake once more. 

When the long, tedious night is past — 
So, when life's wearying task is o'er. 

The loved and lost shall meet at last! 



HOPE IN AD VURSITY: \ Oq 



SONG. 



Give me one smile, for my heart is sad, 

And gloomier thoughts are mine to-day — 
Give me one smile, for I would be glad. 

Beneath the light of its cheering ray ! 
As the flower lifts up to the rainbow sky 

Its tearful glance, when the storm is past, 
I would catch one ray from thy smiling eye — 

Perchance to greet me 'twill be the last ! 

And sing one song, for its playful tone 

May find an echo within my breast ; 
Though my heart hath slumbered so long alone, 

I fear it hath sunk to its final rest. 
Yes, sing ! for the incense above the dead. 

Hath risen from the altar's holy shrine : 
And song for the light of a spirit fled, 

May be hallowed by lips so pure as thine. 



HOPE IN ADVERSITY. 

I SAW a noble heart bow down 

Beneath the rod of fate ; 
Turn into paths it had not known, 

Dismayed and desolate. 
Dark ruin hovered overhead, 

Destruction spread around, 



126 SOPE IN ADVERSITY. 

Honor seemed buried with the dead^ 
And hope an empty sound; 

But I cried, " Hope on, thou noble heart ! 
Though thunder-bolts should fall, 

And foes, like blades of grass, upstart. 
Thou shalt resist them all." 



He saw no friendly hand put forth 

To help him on the way ; 
Men coldly talked of former worth. 

And coldly turned away ; 
And some there were who said that shame 

Had marked him for her own ; 
Few cared to recollect his name — 

He seemed almost alone ; 
But I cried, " Hope on, thou trembling heart! 

Thy star will yet arise. 
High in the world of which thou art, 

Unto admiring eyes." 



He cast from off his name the ban, 

That tortured long his soul, 
He rose in all the might of man, 

And dignified the whole. 
And the}^, who whispered once his name 

With scorn, were silent now ; 
More than he ever hoped to claim. 

Adorned his honored brow; 



IN HEAVEN. 127 

And I cried, "Well done, thou noble heart! 

Thy star ascendeth yet ; 
Hope on, hope on, where'er thou art. 

So that thy sun ne'er set ! " 



m HEAVEN. 

Art thou in heaven to-night, 

On whose awakened sight. 
The dawn of an immortal day hath burst — 

In yonder sky afar, 

I've singled out one star, 
As cradle where thy infant soul is nursfc. 

I know 'tis not so bright. 

As some within my sight, 
But calm and tranquil as affection's smile; 

And 'tis for this I love 

That little star above. 
And, dreaming, fancy thou art there the while. 

Eor thou, in life, wert mild 

As summer's fairest child. 
And walkedst not in the world's deceitful ways ; 

But in the quiet shade, 

Thy innocence had made — 
Hadst the glad morning of thy tranquil days. 

They passed away, ere thou 
Hadst bared thy fair young brow. 
To greet the warm and sunny rays of June ; 



128 THE SUA D WED BR ()W. 

And yet. 1 would not say. 
Thou hast passed too soon away 
From earth — Oh, no; wc never die too soon. 

'Tis sweet to think that one, 

Whom we have loved alone, 
Hath found a dwelling in yon world of light ; 

And dream the blessed thought 

That we are not forgot, 
Even by those who are in heaven to-night. 



THE SHADOWED BEOW. 

I Kxovr that thy fate on earth will be sad, 
That thy spirit will bend and bow, 

And thy heart in the vestments of grief be clad, 
! thou of the shadowed brow. 

I knoAv that thy home 'mid the things of earth, 

Will be but a cheerless one; 
I know that thy tone in the halls of mirth, 

Will be but a saddened tone. 

For written distinctly upon thy brow, 

Is a tale of waning years ; — 
Perchance the strife is begun even now 

Of hopes and doubts and fears. 

Of hopes that soar like birds on high. 
To bathe in the realms of lisfht ; 



THE SHADOWED BROW. 129 

Of doubts that circle like vultures nigh, 
To check their impetuous flight. 

Of fears for the beautiful pearls that lie 
In the depths of the heart concealed ; 

Too stainless for aught beneath the sky, 
Must they rest there un revealed ? 

Will they sparkle not in the night of gloom, 
When thy spirit hath learned to bow 

Beneath the weight of an earthly doom ? 
! thou of the shadowed brow. 

I know that thy bosom is framed for love — 

For love — the divine, the true; 
Whose every breathing might find above, 

A place with the chosen few. 

Yet the flowers thou lovest so well will die, 

And thy heart will perish too, 
And the relics within thy bosom lie 

Forever concealed from view. 

For I know that thy fate will be sad on earth, 
That thy spirit will bend and bow. 

And thy voice be mournful in halls of mirth, 
0! thou of the shadowed brow. 



130 THE ISPIBIT OF THE YEAR. 



THE SPIRIT OP THE YEAR. 

The spirit of the year has flowu, 

The harp with song no more is strung, 
That, like a mountain sera^^jh tone, 

Wild melody around us flung. 
The clouds were touched with mystic power, 

And hearts vibrated to the strain. 
That, even in that solemn hour. 

Commingled pleasure with its pain. 

The chords were touched, and proudly rose 

The voice of the departed one, 
While life was drawing to a close, 

Ere yet its lingering task was done : 
As rose the strain upon the air. 

And cast o'er earth its magic spell, 
A tone of sadness mingled there. 

In token of its last farewell. 

*' I join the noble dead," it said, 

As passed the shadows from its wing— 
'^ I go to join the mighty dead. 

The greatness of their deeds to sing. 
I stand upon that crumbling shore, 

Whose dark waves gather round me fast, 
And lo ! to greet me come once more. 

The kingly rulers of the past ! 



THE SrililT OF THE YEAR. 131 

" Thou of the many diadems, 

Before whose silent waves I stand, 
My beautiful, my priceless gems, 

I gave unto your jewelled hand. 
The gladness that was wont to twine 

Around my heart's wild minstrelsy, 
Warm hearts that knelt before my shrine. 

These were my offerings to Thee. 

"I shook the blossoms from my wing, 

To herald my departure hence ; 
And bade the fairest flow'rets sing. 

My dirge of summer excellence. 
I see them now beside the grave 

That open waits for me the while ; 
They turn upon the silent wave, 

And greet me with their solemn smile ! 

"I come not as a captive comes, 

Enchained, from dark, disastrous war, 
Whose thoughts in tortured madness roam ; 

I am a kingly conqueror. 
The hearts of millions are my own ; 

Whose brightness to the grave Avent down — 
Their deep unchanging love my throne, 

Their tears the jewels of my crown. 

' Ye shadowy sisters of the past. 
Whose mighty love is o'er me spread, 

I feel I am your own at last. 

One numbered with the noble dead : 



132 THE SILENT WARRIOR. 

I enter now that silent home, 

I hear the sad winds breathe my knell — 
Lost ones, and loved, I come, I come ! 

Earth and earth's children, all, farewell ! " 



IDA. 



Beautiful Ida, to thy deep, dark eye, 
A thousand thoughts flow up unceasingly. 
Like sparkling fountains leaping toward the sky, 

Bearing a beauty with them that might rest, 
In purity upon an angel's breast, 
Could they but reach those mansions of the 
blest; — 

And music, like the dropping of a tear, 
That, could it penetrate an angel's ear. 
Angels would pause and turn aside to hear. 

And why not? From the heart in which they lie 
They come in throngs to be received on high, 
And sparkle in the diadem of the sky. 



THE SILEKT WAERIOR. 

A HAUGHTY scorn is in thine eye. 
Dark as the stormy night, 

Warrior ! the battle- hour is nigh, 
Go, mingle in the fight I. 



THE SILENT WABRIOE.. 133 

The trumpet's voice is bearing near 

The cry of War's alarms, 
The groans that rend the dying ear, 

The glittering blaze of arms. 

Why dost thou linger with the slain, 

Nor heed thy chieftain's call ? 
The cloud of smoke rolls o'er the plain, 

And shrouds the face of all ; 
A thousand steeds are rushing there; 

A thousand sabres drawn; 
A thousand voices fill the air ; — 

On to the battle, on ! 

Thy sword once bravely turned the fight- 
Why has it ceased to glow? 

Thy voice once dared the foe to fight — 
Why is it silent now ? 

Thy hand still firmly grasps the blade, 
But all its strength is gone ; 

Thy form has sought the silent shade, 
Cold, breathless, and unknown. 

The banner fluttering in the wind, 

The warrior's proud desire, 
No more shall waken in thy mind, 

Ambition's ardent fire. 
To gain the glory of a name, 

Thou hast grasped a bloody wreath ; 
Hast grasped the warrior's crown of fame. 

And found a warrior's death. 



134 THE CRIMSON ROSE. 

THE ceimso:n^ eose. 

Hast thou no voice to answer to mine own, 
To murmur forth one trembhng music-tone, 

To breatlie one hope and bid it not depart, 
To gather from the past one single hour, 
To pour upon the mind one golden shower? 

Eose of the burning heart ! 

To please the mind upon the self-same spot, 
To call to memory the very thought 

Thy strange, wild beauty bringeth? And to be 
A thing of inspiration — calling back. 
Along life's tearful and repentant track, 

One blessed thought of thee? 

Answer me, thou that liftest thy crimson cheek. 
Unto the azure heavens, as though to speak 

Thy blushing praises at a nobler shrine ! 
Answer me! will the same exquisite glow 
That thrills my frame, while gazing on thee now, 

In after years, be mine ? 

Shall I steal back again into the past, 

And live again those hours that would not last, 

Shrouding from view the intervening space? 
Or shall I snatch one picture from their grasp, 
Which tearful memory once again would clasp, 

To gaze on its sweet face ? 



THE CRIMSON ROSE. 135 

Still thou art silent; bat I have a tlioiiglit 
Dawning witliin, that will not be forgot — 

That thou will form one link in memory's 
chain ; 
I shall pace onward with my fate and tears, 
But the soul w^andering to our first, fond years, 

Shall meet with thee again. 

Shall breathe the balm that trembles in thy cup, 
Shall drink the perfume of thy spirit up, 

And pour a soul-breathed incense from her own. 
Alas ! alas ! that burning thoughts and high. 
Should thus go fortli into the world to die, 

Uomourned for, and alone ! 

Like thee, sweet rose ! too often yielding fortli 
To hearts that feel not, things of little worth. 

The very fragrancy on which they live, 
Taking in cheap exchange the cold regard 
That jealous caution urges as reward — 

All that the world will give ! 

The heart is too much like thee ! scattering round 
Its red, ripe leaves upon a cold, hard ground ; 

Uttering from ruins broken words of love, 
"Which, though uncared for in this world of ours, 
May shape their shining course thro' darksome 
hours, 

And find their way above ! 



136 THE FOREST GRAVE. 



THE FOREST GRAVE. 

Thou green and waving forest! 

Amid thy lonely dells, 
Amid thy thousand rugged trunks 

A voiceless tenant dwells. 

A still, secluded mansion 

Is his who sleeps beneath, 
"With grassy covering overhead, 

And flowing forest-wreath. 

And lonely in its musings, 

With voice of melody, 
The calm and shade-sequestered stream 

Is softly gliding by. 

Beside the quiet sleeper 

It sadly floats along, 
As if presiding stillness waked 

Its spirit into song. 

Or does it speak of beauty, 
On the face of nature spread, 

Or murmur thus in tones of praise 
The glory of the dead ? 

Speak of the silent dweller 

Thus low beside thee laid. 
And thou, dark forest, tell of liim— 

The tenant of thy shade! 



THE FOREST GRAVE. 13 7 

To view thee in thy stillness, 

Vast, beautiful, sublime, 
To seek thee, did he wander forth 

From habitable clime ? 

From the sunny home of childhood, 

Did he wander forth alone, 
To perish in a distant land 

Unknowing and unknown ? 

Did no kind heart weep o'er him 

The burning tears of grief? 
Did no fond bosom heave for one 

Whose noonday was so brief ? 

And if forlorn, forsaken, 

When life and being fled. 
What kindly hand thus placed the turf 

Above the lonely dead ? 

The green grass, thin and waving, 
The dark earth, hard and cold, 

Tell that one faithful heart was near 
To minister untold. 

To bathe the throbbing temples, 

To watch the parting breath, 
And when the spirit passed, to pay 

The last sad rites of death. 



138 OCTOBER. 

But who was this lone sleeper, 
This lowly, slumbering frame — 

Does memory recall no deed 
To consecrate his name? 

Is there no proud endeavor 
From oblivion's waters cast ; 

No burst of intellectual lire 

Snatched from the traceless past? 

Thou cloud-enfolded forest, 
Thou hast no answering tone ! 

The same sad silence reigns around- 
Thy secret is thine own ! 

So rest, thou lonely sleeper, 

From life's weary tempest- wave, 

The solitary tenant of 
A solitary grave ! 



OCTOBER. 

Beautiful month I from its spirit-home, 

Whence does the light of thy presence come ? 

I see it play on the changing leaf, 

Like silent thoughts on tlie brow of grief ; 

And the pensive glance of thine azure skies 

Is full of a thousand memories ; 

And the earth is sad with thy swift decline. 

And my spirit is sad as the F-mile of thine ! 



OCTOBER. 139 

I hear the sound of thy moaniiigs nigh, 
Low, soft, and sweet as a spirit's sigh ; 
Not to the ear does it come alone, 
The heart is filled with the solemn tone ; 
It calls from their cells the hidden tears, 
To fall for the sorrows of other years ; 
And thy voice responds to the gloom of mine, 
And my heart is heavy and sad as thine. 

Thon hast no leaf hnt recalls the thought, 
To saddened memories that perish not ; 
Thou hast no flower but calls to mind, 
The glory of things it has left behind ; 
The thought flashes back to that blessed land, 
To restore one link to a broken band ; 
Alas ! a stranger, it goes to share, 
A gladness that is no longer there. 

It is gone forever ! It will not come 
To gladden the heart in its desert-home ! 
It is gone, to return no more, no more. 
The time that is past, the season that's o'er ; 
Yet, beautiful month ! in thy smile appears, 
A light, like the glow of departed years. 
And round thee, in silence, my spirit clings, 
As I watch the hue of thy changing wings. 



140 THY HEART IS WITH THE DEAD. 



THY HEART IS WITH THE DEAD. 

I SEE a blight upon thy brow, 

Within thine eye a gloom, 
Hast thou no joy in being now, 

That thou should'st miss its bloom ? 
From out thy spirit's inner shrine. 

A glorious light has fled ; 
Thou'st felt its brilliancy decline, 

Thy heart is with the dead 1 

0, when the spring-time wandered here 

With all her bright array, 
Thou saw'st her loveliness appear. 

Thou saw'st its sure decay ; 
And with her light has vanisli'd one. 

Whose life too quickly fled ; 
Death sought the goal; the victory won, 

Thy heart is with the dead! 

Alas ! alas ! that death should bring 

A blight upon each bloom ; 
The dead have felt his venomed sting. 

The living feel his gloom. 
With thee, with thee, life once was bright, 

Gay hopes before thee sped ; 
Where is the sparkle of their light ? 

Thy heart is with the dead ! 



THE SONGS THAT MY FATSEB USED TO SING. 141 

Dost thou not feel thy inmost life 

Die, inch by inch, away ? 
Within thy heart, the bitter strife 

That calls thee to decay ? 
A longing for a thing not found ; 

For hopes too quickly fled ; 
The land for which thou now art bound ; 

A rest beside thv dead ? 



THE SONGS THAT MY FATHER USED 

TO SING. 

The songs that my father used to sing, 

When I was a little cliild, — 
They come to my heart, like birds in spring, 
And make its innermost chambers ring 

With their music, quaint and wild. 

They come, and my bosom is filled again, 

With the echoing sounds of yore ; 
The tread of armies across the plain, 
The voice of weeping above the slain 

When the storm of battle is o'er. 

I see the glorious ones of old. 

Start from their dreamless beds ; 
They have shook from off their breasts the mouldj 
And their coffined limbs are no longer cold, 

Nor helmetless their heads. 



142 TEE SONGS THAT 3fY FATHER USED TO SmO. 

They come from the shores of the fading Past, 
. With banner, and sword, and shiekl ; 
I hear the sound of the battle-blast, 
I see the courser, rushing past 
Over the upturned field. 

The songs that my father used to sing, 

When I was a heedless one. 
They come like flowers of early spring, 
And pleasant memories they bring. 

Of days that are past and gone. 

Once more I sit by the starlit stream 

Where I sat in olden times, 
And lend my ear to each darling theme, 
And picture them forth as in a dream, 

In rude, unpolished rhymes. 

I hear a sweet, sad yoice of grief. 

From " Highland Mary's " grave. 
In the rustling of the autumn-leaf, 
In the binding of the golden sheaf, 
And the murmur of the wave. 

Songs of the glorious days of yore; 

Songs of the brave and fair ; 
Upon my listening lieart they pour 
A mingled tide — the battle's roar. 

And the deep, still voice of prayer. 



WHEME DOST THOU DWELL. 143 

I hear them now ! as they rise and swell, 

From childhood's fairy shore ; 
And they fall on my ear like a far-off bell, 
Tolling at midnight a funeral knell — • 

And my heart is sad once more ! 



WHEEE DOST THOU DWELL ? 

Where is thy dwelling now, 
! long lamented ? — dost thou hover round, 
Clad in an angel's garb, or is thy brow 

With the death -garland bound ? 

Lo ! si3irit, 'tis on thee, 
That I would call — on thee, that livest yet. 
Changeless, eternal as eternity; 

Thy sun can never set. 

Yet speak ! where hast thou flown ; 
Which of the "many mansions" that are found, 
Within the Father's house, is now thine own, 

O thou ! tho victor crowned ? 

Down 'midst the snowy pearls 
That light the gorgeous caverns deep, 
Whilst far above the circling eddy curls. 

Dost thou thy watches keep ? 



144 THE DEAD TREE IN THE FOREST. 

Or from the stars that light 
The everlasting hills, dost thou appear, 
To guard us iu the dreamy hours of night, 

And our lone slumbers clieer ? 



Dwell'st thou upon the earth. 
Where the rose blooms, or where bright waters 

flow. 
Where all things beautiful look up in mirtK ? 

Stern reason answers, " No." 



Tliou art in heaven above, 
Hymning the ransomed spirit's song of bliss ; 
Ah ! who would call thee from that home of love, 

To a bleak world like this ? 



THE DEAD TREE IN THE FOREST. 

Left amidst his green companions. 

In that frowning solitude, 
Like a stricken, crownless monarch, 

Stood the lone one of the wood. 
Bared his limbs, and tempest-shaken, 

Motionless his strong arms now ; 
And the coronal of triumph 

Bloomed no longer on his brow. 



THE DEAD TREE IN THE FOREST. 145 

There was music in the fountain 

That went sparkling at his feet ; 
There was sweetness where the flowers 

Nestled in their green retreat; 
And the southern hreezes offered 

(Wandering joyous and elate), 
Incense to his lofty comrades, 

Heedless of his lone estate. 

And the deep and far-off river, 

Whose majestic murmurs stole 
On the air with gathering glory, 

Like the swelling of a soul 
When it bounds, to burst asunder 

Bands that held it captive long. 
Failed to waken one pulsation 

With its ever-sounding song. 

Yet the sunset, softly sparkling, 

Fell upon his aged brow, 
And his bare and withered branches 

Smiled beneath the summer-glow ; 
And I read my heart a lesson 

Of that old and lonely tree. 
As it stood within the sunshine, 

Looking upward reverently. 

Like a poor man, ^midst the grandeur 

And the glory of the great. 
Standing silent and forsaken. 

Sad, forlorn, and desolate, — 



146 ^ MOONLIGHT MEMORY. 

So, unto my thoughtful spirit. 
Seemed that old, deserted tree, 

Left auiidst its green companions 
Waving in their careless glee. 

But the sunlight of the Gospel 

Falls in softness on his heart. 
And it sheds a halo round him, 

That will never more depart ; 
So he stands, unknown, unnoted, 

Looking upward reverently. 
For the last and final summons, 

Like that maimed and ancient tree. 



A MOONLIGHT MEMORY. 

I a:m thinking now of one moonliglit night 
That covered the earth with a brilliant sheen, 

And poured through our bosoms a kindred light. 
As we danced -like fays on the moonlit green. 

The earth was lovely beneath our feet, 

For the eloquent voice of the spring was heard, 

In tones as varied and softly sweet 

As the tuneful notes of the sinorins^ bird. 

The soft breeze Avoke from its pleasant dreams, 
And it seemed that an angel had stirred the air ; 

And the bright stars looked into laughing streams, 
To see their own images winking there. 



THE BIER OF SUMMER. 147 

The apple-blossoms came raining down, 
And lay like gems on the green beneath, 

Like jewels, shaken from Heaven's own crown, 
Filling the air with their fragrant breath. 

We watched the trees from our hiding-place, 
Adding to moonlight a thousand charms, 

With their shadows lengthening apace, 
Till they locked themselves in each other's arms. 

All was as lovely as fairy-land 

While we revelled in their moonlit bowers, 
And fairy-land, with her fairy band, 

ISTever held happier hearts than ours. 

! many an hour has passed since then. 
Bright with the sunshine around it seen ; 

But none so fair or so dear as when 

We danced that night on the moonlit green I 



THE BIER OF SUMMER. 

Summer is dead ! what shall we take 
To grace the Summer's bier ? 

I heard her last, her faintest sigh. 
Fall sadly on the ear, 

Like to some passing melody 
I almost grieved to hear. 



148 THE BIER OF SUMMER. 

All ! where are now those sunny hours 

So smiled on from above ? 
And where are now those blissful bowers 

Through which we loved to rove ? 
And where the fragranc of those flowers 

Whose every breath was love ? 



I see nought by the Summer's bier 

Of all she loved of yore ; 
Where is the brightness of her skies, 

The wald-flower wreath she w^ore ? 
Oh ! have they followed to decay, 



Or did thev 2'0 before ? 



J &~ 



Many have gone, but few remain 
As mourners o'er the tomb 

Of parted Summer — tliere to shed 
A kind of wild perfume; 

And from her silent halls disperse 
The darkness of their gloom. 



And is this all ? Are there no more, 
To mourn for Summer fled ? 

To breathe a prayer above her tomb. 
One silent tear to shed ? 

Ah, yes ! one gentle heart remaius 
To weep beside the dead I 



STABS ON TEE WATERS 149 

Autumn stretched forth her graceful hands 

To deck the Summer's bier. 
I saw her strew her leaves around, 

Her mournful smile appear; 
And o'er the earth I heard the wail, 

The whispered sigli, the tear. 

She placed on Summer's silent brow. 

The chaplet she had wove, 
Of yellow leaves and faded flowers — 

Fit emblem of her love — 
That she had. gathered through long hours, 

From meadow, hill, and grove. 

In her soft eyes was tenderness, 

Without despair or gloom. 
As she bent o'er Summer's faded bier, 

And 2-ave her all her bloom. 



fa' 



! the dead are never desolate 



While love bends o'er their tomb ! 



STARS ON THE WATEES. 

Bkightly ye shine on the midnight wave, 

Like gems deep set in a coral cave ; 

I have watched you oft in the silent night. 

As you softly stole from your halls of light. 

And shed a glory around, above. 

Like the tranquil smile in the eye of love, 



150 STARS ON THE WATERS. 

Beaming serene from its orb of blue, 
x\.s calm, as soft, and as tender too. 

Beautiful, beautiful stars ! your light 

Is carried abroad on the wings of night. 

Gone is the darkness that hoyer'd round 

On tree and flower, on hill and mound; 

But mostly it falls on the sjoarkling breast 

Of the waves, when their waters are lulled to rest, 

Making it gleam like a brilliant mine, 

Where millions of dazzling diamonds shine. 

Do you see yourselves in the glassy wave, 

That dreads e'en the neighboring flower to lave. 

Lest the movement might disturb the rest 

Of the bright ones that sleep in its quiet breast ? 

I have seen them struggle their places to keep, 

When the waters were stirred from their tranquil 

sleep, 
And it seemed like the clinging of heart to heart, 
That the storms of existence would force apart! 

Thou who didst spread yon boundless chart, 
Set deep Thy watch in the careless heart! 
Amid the darkness, and doubts, and fears, 
That shadow the light of our early years, 
Let the beams of Thy love be shed abroad. 
Like stars on the midnight wave, our God! 
That the doubt may pass, and the darkness flee. 
And the chastened spirit return to Thee! 



MOVBN NOT THE DEPARTED. 151 

MOUEN NOT THE DEPARTED. 

Weep not, weep not, for the long cherished flower ! 
The fresh dews of morning will vanish ere 
noon ; 
The star that shines brightest afc midnight's dark 
honr, 
Will fade in the distance full soon ; 
Onr own hopes grow sad as the sere autumn leaf. 
And gladness gives place to the winter of grief. 

Why mourn for the young and the loved one de- 
parted ? 
Wliy weep for the blossom you cherished with 
care ? 
Earth cannot boast of a maid so light-hearted, 

That no traces of sorrow are there. 
We look on the lips and the smiles that en- 
wreath. 
And see not the heart that is fainting beneath. 

Then mourn not for her, who has gone ere the 
power 
Of sorrow could bow to the earth her fair head; 
Let memory hover around the young flower, 

And speak of the beautiful dead. 
Let her in the sleep of serenity rest — 
For earth hath no care that can sadden her 
breast. 



152 THi: BIRD OF SONG. 

As a sweet strain of music floats over the water, 
And dies on the air, still to live in the heart, 

Even so the young beauty of earth's fairest daugh- 
ter. 
Though gone, still can gladness impart ; 

For Memory keeps every good influence green, 

And fair faces dead are vet never unseen. 



THE BIRD OF SONG. 

O'er life's dim and shadowy sea, 

I have heard men say, 
Flies a sw^eet bird constanth^, 

Singing all the way. 
Come, bird of Hope, to me ! 
I will ope my heart to thee ; 
Come, and with thy melody 

Bid the waves be gay ! 

Eyes are coldly turned on me. 
That should beam in love; 

And their haunting glance I see 
Wheresoe'er I move. 

Come, sweet bird of Song, to me, 

Come and sing unceasingly! 

I will dream, in hearing thee, 
Of the eves above. 



.HARK TO THE LOW WINDS SIGHING. 153 

Bitter words are floating round 

On tlie troubled air, 
Drowning with discordant sound 

All the music there. 
Come, bird of Hope, to me, 
I would fill my heart with thee, 
And, ^mid so much melody, 

Leaye no room for care. 

Fast, my bark is bounding fast 

O'er the troubled deep, 
Watchful eyes around it cast. 

Jealous vigils keep. 
Gome, sweet bird of Song, to me. 
Or my heart will break for thee; 
Come, and with thy melody 

Charm them all asleep ! 



HARK TO THE LOW WI^DS SIGHING! 

Haek, to the low winds sighing, 

Leaves rustle sad ; 
In the vestments of the dying, 

Autumn is clad. 
Ye, who saw the summer-flower 

Blooming in May, 
Now pause to ponder o'er 

Nature's decay. 



154 HABK TO THE LOW WINDS SIGHING. 

Heard ye the sad brook creeping, 

Mournful along ? 
'Twas the voice of nature weeping 

Summer's last song ! 
Hear ye the sad winds swelling 

Slow, like a knell ? 
'Tis the voice of nature telling 

Autumn's farewell ! 

Sorrow comes with face unsmiling- 
Turn ye away ! 

Hope, with airy song beguiling — 
List to her lay ! 

In its tones there's bliss elating, 
Shall it be forgot ? 

Misery is anticipating 
Griefs which are not. 

Though decay and cojistant sorrow 

Life's bloom destroy, 
Hope sees in the wished-for morrow 

Something of joy. 
And though the summer-flowers 

Still we must mourn, 
Nature whispers, they are ours — 

Spring shall return ! 



THE OLD TREE. 155 



THE OLD TREE. 

Old tree ! while tliy leaves in the summer- winds 

! let thy wild spirit give answer to-day ! 

By the red lightning's flash I have gazed on thy 
form, 

1 have questioned thee oft, 'mid the rage of the 

storm. 

I have heard the strong whirlwind roar hoarse 

thro' thy leaves, 
Like a demon of ill, when the winter wind grieves ; 
Thon hast heaved like a billow preparing a 

grave 
For tlie vessel careering before the wild wave. 

! bravely, old tree ! has thy spirit withstood 
The shock of the thunder, the rush of the flood ; 
Thou hast stood like a rock in the strong tempest's 

path, 
Thou hast laughed unto scorn the fierce voice of 

his wrath. 

Alone, ! alone, in thy strength and thy glory 
Old tree of the forest! say, what is thy story ? 
Alone like a king, stern in pride, lion-hearted. 
When his foes are all gone, and his people de- 
parted. 



156 THE OLD TREE. 

I have questioned thee oft, when the summer was 

warm, 
I Have questioned thee oft, midst the rage of the 

storm. 
And a voice comes to me, like a voice from the 

wave, 
" No secrets have I^ which thy spirit should crave.'' 

Methinks that a voice might be heard from each 

bough; 
Old tree of the forest ! give tongue to them now ! 
Of the years thou hast numbered — could I but 

once climb, 
Many things I could tell, that had pass'd in my 

time ! 

Perchance, 'neath thy cover, the red Indian sprung. 
Perchance, thro' thy branches, the war-shout has 

rung ! 
Here the fire of their council perchance was last 

made, 
And they sleep here the last sleep of death in thy 

shade ! 



Ah ! who may give answer ! not thou- of the wood, 
For thy spirit is fitful, and dark is thy mood ; 
And thy voice comes to me like a voice from the 

blast, 
'^ The tales of the past I have given to the past." 



THE TJNIIED STAIES. 15 7 

Stern tree of the old oaken forest ! thy tone 
Is full of the knowledge of years that have flown ; 
Yet thy secrets we read in the wave of each bongh, 
As the light and the shade which pass oyer them 
now. 

They are dark with the horror of years that are 
fled. 

And bright with the sunbeams around them be- 
spread, 

Now, sad as the heart, when the winter-wind 
grieves, 

Then glad as the zephyrs that play midst thy 
leaves. 

Old tree ! I have fancied a voice from each leaf, 
Like a whisper of gladness, a murmur of grief; 
And they come to my heart like a voice from the 

dead, 
Though ''the tales of the past with the past all 

have fled." 



THE UNITED STATES. 

Mike own dear land ! I prize thee beyond meas- 

ui'e, 
And fold thee in my heart, the richest treasure, 
The world could offer to my earnest prayer ; 



158 TEE UNITED iSTATES. 

It were the greatest evil could befall me, 
If from thy shores some luckless fate should call 
me, 
My own dear laud most fair ! 

Though other skies may shine with greater splen- 
dor. 
And other lands may fairer seasons tender. 

Yet lightning gleams amid the darkest gloom ; 
The brightest flames oft cover worthless ashes, 
The fairest monument in glory flashes, 

Above the deepest tomb ! 

Thou land of rolling floods and lofty mountains, 
Of dark green forests and pellucid fountains. 
Sounding like silver music o'er the sea — 
Out from their prison-bounds in gladness spring- 

Their tuneful voices with clear laughter ring- 
ing. 
To know that they are free ! 

Thou art mine own ! deep thoughts nor straining 

vision. 
Could make thee fairer — thou, mine own Elysian ; 

A mighty gem set in the western world ! 
And though thy skies may shine with colder lus- 
tre. 
The brightest constellations round thee cluster, 
Where'er thy flag's unfurled ! 



THE UNITED STATES. 159 

Thou land of stars, of beauty, and of wonder — 
Oh ! may thy links be never rent asunder ; 

May the lost Pleiad's fate be none of thine — 
It cannot be, while heaven shineth o'er thee, 
And one bright plauet leads the way before thee, 

And whispers, " Thou art mine ! " 

Fair Freedom's voice! 'Thou, land of swelling 

waters. 
And all thy starry train are her fair daughters — 

Sisters alike in beauty and in fame ! 
And t?iough the elder be more famed in story, 
The younger, too, wears a like wreath of glory, 

Blazoned with Freedom's name ! 

For all are hers, and she is whispering ever 

To each fair child, " Thou art mine own forever, 

The choicest jewel in my diadem; 
Thy names I write in the blue vault of heaven — 
Nor shall the orbs that gem the brow of even 

Excel iu sx^ieridor them. 

" Thy sons are mine! in hours of doubt and dan- 
ger, 
Thou gavest thy noblest ones to the lone stran- 
ger, 
That spread her wild free wings beyond the sea; 
And o'er the blue expanse of ocean springing, 
Waved her proud flag amid glad voices ringing 
With shouts of ' Liberty ! ' 



160 SUMMER WEPT. 

*'' My country ! thou art hers, she thine, forever; 
May the tongue speak, and may tlie heart beat 
never, 
That would undo the ties that bind thee one ; 
She shall be thine — heaven hath received the 

token — 
And thou art hers — those vows can ne'er be 
broken, 
While lips breathe * Washington ! ' " 



SUMMER WEPT. 

Thou didst weep, Summer, when thy soft feet 
pressed 
The verdant covering Spring had left behind; 
We heard the sighs that trembled from thy 
breast, 
Come in the murmurs of the broken wind ; 
And from the mourning skies the bright drops 

fell, 
Bathing in tears the hill and wood and dell. 

Was there a darkness o'er thy pathway thrown, 

Or didst thou miss a flower thy spirit sought ? 
Was thei'e a gem thou could'st not call thine 
own, 
A smile thou thought'st to meet, and found it 
not ? 



SUNSHINE FALLETH ON TRY PLAGE OF BEST. 161 

! in thy skies a matchless beauty slept, 

And o'er thine earth a stream of brightness swept. 

Did'st thon behold a heart beneath thy skies, 
Whereon the foot of misery had trod ? 

And did thy spirit from its stillness rise, 
And send the voice of sympathy abroad ? 

Lovely, oh ! summer, did thy smile appear 

In days of yore, when blithely resting here ! 

Where has its brightness fled? why dost thou 
pour, 
As from a heart of grief, thy wailings forth ? 
Oh, let it speak in gladness, as of yore, 
And light the green earth with its smile of 
mirth, 
Such as the young Spring loved, when fchee before, 
Softly she vanished, and was seen no more. 



THE SUNSHINE FALLETH ON THY 
PLACE OF REST. 

The sunshine falleth on thy place of rest. 

But thee it warmeth not ; 
The grass is green above thy tranquil breast. 

And thou art not forgot ! 



162 SUmHINE FALLETH ON THY PLACE OF REST. 

The echo of thy voice hath long been hushed, 

Thy footprints left the hill, 
AVhere the wild rose in conscious beauty blushed, 

Yet thou'rt remembered still ! 

0, how could we forget thee ? we whose hands 

Clasped thine in far-off years ; 
Who, looking with thee sea-ward from the sands. 

Shared all thy hopes and fears ? 
We stood together on the green hill-side, 

Read from the self- same page ; 
Loyed the loud music of the "babbling tide," 

And feared the tempest's rage. 

Together have our voices swelled toward heaven, 

When evening-skies were dim, 
And claimed the promise God's dear Son had 
given, 

In solemn Sabbath-hymn. 

Then how can we forget thee ? Thou art deep 

Within our memories 3"et ; 
There to remain till love has ceased to weep, 

And our life's sun has set ! 



INQUIRIES. 163 



INQUIKIES. 

Thy glance is od the mountain, 

Thy foot is on the earth ; 
Thy thoughts are wandering through the vales 

That bound thy place of birth. 
The scenes of other years are spread 

Before thee even now ; 
Though the hopes of bygone years are fled 

Forever from thy brow. 

Tell me, my brother ! tell me, 

Is all as fair as when 
Our feet went tripping o'er the fields 

And through the woodland glen? 
Dost thou hear the wild bird's melody 

With the joyousness of yore ; 
Or have these feelings left the heart. 

To people it no more ? 

They would tell of many a pleasure. 

Seized with a careless hand ; 
They would tell of many a blessed hour 

Passed iii thy mother-land. 
Of mauy a hope born in a heart 

Where inexperience reigned, 
Of many a wayward wish withheld, 

Of much more lost than gained ! 



164 INQUIRIES. 

I see a glow of beauty 

Upon the lofty hills ; 
1 hear the voice-like melodies 

Of a thousand mountain-rills ; 
The laughter aud the joyous shout 

Are brightly floating by, 
Like sunny clouds that drift about 

Upon a summer sky ! 

Tell me, my brother ! tell me, 

Does the freshness of our youth 
Still linger on the green hill-side. 

Immaculate as its truth ? 
Or where bright water gushes glad 

The frowning rocks between ; 
Or where the stately pine is clad 

In everlasting green ? 

Where is the early spirit 

That made our being fair ? 
We feel it not within our hearts, 

For they are chilled with care. 
We see not on each other's brow 

The images it cast; 
Dimly it haunts our memory now. 

That spectre of the past. 

Around the scenes of childhood, 
Its holiest light is shed; 

Forever will it linger there. 
Like love beside the dead ; 



SHE PASSED m HER BEAUTY. 165 

And glimpses of its beauty come 

Before me fleet and fast, 
Hovering o'er childhood's broken tomb, 

Companions of the past ! 



SHE PASSED m HER BEAUTY. 

She passed in her beauty; her brightness of heart 

Unshaded by care or regret. 
She passed ere the sorrows of earth could impart 

One pang she could wish to forget. 

She passed in her innocence; guilt had not 
thrown 
One stain on her clear, placid brow ; 
She passed ere life's trials and miseries were 
known, 
To shadow her pathAvay below. 

She passed in her youth ; in the beautiful bloom 

Of her childhood she glided away ; 
And the star of her memory still may illume 

The sorrows that darken our day. 

Then, why should we weep for the loved one again, 
That slumbers beneath the green sod ; 

Her spirit now free from its shackles of pain, 
Has passed to its Father and God ! 



1G6 TO OyE UNKNOWX. 

TO ONE UNKNOWN. 

We have not met in crowded hall, 

Nor by the social hearth, 
And yet perchance the self-same thoughts 

Haye bound us both to earth. 
The glorious dreams of other years, 
That dawn so oft in smiles, and set so oft in tears. 

Thou'st watched at eve some kindling star, 

And breathed no thought of me; 
I've gazed upon the same bright orb, 

And never dreamed of thee ; 
Our paths of life are separate far, 
And yet our thoughts have met, and mingled 
round one star ! 

We know that noble hearts are here 

And yet we meet them not, 
'Tis ours and theirs alike to share 

The Universal lot. 
The sunbeams from our track will glide, 
And bright forms that we love will perish from 
our side. 

Each life hath its appointed end, 

An end alike to all, 
That steals npon us unawares 

As bright leaves fade and fall ; 
And though no meeting here be given 
Perchance we yet may see each other's face iu 
heaven. 



SECRET GRIEF. 167 



SECEET GEIEF. 

What meant that secret sigh, 

The sudden agony, 
That waked thy bosom from its wonted rest ? 

I did not think a tone 

That grief claims as her own, 
Could find a moment's dwelling in thy breast! 

0, who that saw thy glance 

And felt the enraptured trance 
Which thy proud beauty caused, a charm o'er 
all, 

Could think that from thy heart 

One single sigh might start, 
Or that the blow of misery there could fall. 

! for an angel's voice 

To bid thee to rejoice, 
And o'er thy path unclouded radiance see; 

And from thy cold, calm eye 

And pale brow's witchery, 
Bid thy impassioned beauty plead to thee ! 

I'd bid thee wake the theme. 

Of thy heart's early dream. 
Why has the sparkle of its mirth gone out ? 

Would make thy spirit's tone. 

So hopelessly alone, 
Seek kindred in the wild waves' joyons shout. 



168 SPRING. 

! I would bid tlie throue 

Of beauty be thine own, 
And wreaths of happiness thy crown should be; 

So beautiful art thou, 

With stately step and brow, 
That thou hast chained even misery to thee! 



SPEING. 



Thou art hastening onward. Spring! 
Onward on a joyous wing, 
Thou dost make the forest ring 

With thy infant glee ; 
With thy beauty and thy bloom, 
With thy sweetness and perfume. 
From old winter's cheerless gloom 

Comes wild minstrelsy. 



Birds are singing from the trees, 
Music floating on the breeze. 
Like a prince o'erlooking these 

Comes the bright sun out; 
Smilingly he looks on earth. 
Meeting there thy glance of mirth ; 
Freely gush the waters forth 

With a joyous shout. 



THE LAND OF FOBGETFVLKEJ SS. 169 

Spring, we love thee for thy beams, 
For thy free rejoicing streams, 
And the spirit-stiriing dreams 

Eesting on thy wing ; 
For thy life-reviying showers. 
For thy incense-breathing flowers. 
And thy happy-laden hours, 

We will bless thee, Spring! 



THE LAND OF FOEGETFULNESS. 

TowAKD the dim land of forgetfulness 

Onr barques are hastening fast ; 
We've reached the topmost wave of life, 

To plunge into the past ! 
Far on the pale horizon's brink 

Their sails are growing less ; 
A little while, and they will sink 

Into sheer nothingness ! 
Not the faint memory of a dream 

Shall on their pathway lie, 
Nor the reflection of a beam 

From out the summer sky. 

And those we wept to leave behind, 
Whose eyes with tears were wet, 

Whose faces in our hearts were shriaed, 
How soon will they forget ! 



170 THE LAND OF FORGETFULNESS. 

Their voices yet again will ring 

On less familiar ears, 
The songs we sung shall others sing — 

Nor waken them to tears ! 
And yet, they too, are gliding fast 

Toward that deserted shore 
Whose anchoring haven is the past — 

Whose language is no more ! 

In the dim land of forgetf ulness 

How can we ever dwell, 
Where not a sunheam comes to bless 

Nor summer breezes swell ! 
Off from its dismal shores no sounds 

In hollow murmurs come, 
The silence is as deep, profound. 

As if the earth were dumb ! 
No echoing music fills with love 

The dreary atmosphere ; 
No azure arches smile above. 

No midnight stars appear ! 

Yet if our barques floa-t side by side 

To that returnless shore. 
If on the same calm seas we glide, 

Hear the same tempests roar; 
What matter, if we be at last 

To after-times unknown, 
A drop within the ocean cast — 

A grave without a stone ! 



INVOCATION TO POESY. [71 

If tliou art only tliere to bless 

When past life's tronbled sea, 
E'en the dim shores of forgetfulness 

Will not unwelcome be. 



INVOCATION TO POESY. 

He had gazed on the vault of the deep blae sky, 
When the midnight planets were hung on high, 
And bright and beautiful did they seem, 
Like the fairy world of a Poet's dream ; 
And his soul drank deep in that happy hour, 
Bright thoughts' from the sky, the star, the flower. 

He had looked on the violet's robe of blue. 
He had seen the rose with its silver dew, 
And the pearls that lay in the hare-bell's cup 
When the leaves of the lily were folded up. 
And the tender gaze and the silent mirth, 
Looked bright from the blossoming things of 
earth. 

He heard a voice from the dark green leaf, 
'Twas low, but it was not a sound of grief ; 
And he heard a sigh on the passing breeze, 
And the wailing moan of the distant seas, 
And they came in the smile of the moonlit wave — 
In the solemn thoughts of the silent grave. 



172 INVOCATION TO POESY. 

A thousand voices were breathing round, 
And there was a spirit in every sound 
The cold, the beautiful, and the dim, 
Arose in their various shapes to him ; 
With the crimson cheek and spotless mind, 
Like the rose on the lily's breast rechn'd. 



The stern, unbending mind was there, — 
The heart of pride and the brow of care, 
And the passionate longing for viewless things, 
Deep sunk m the spirit's hidden springs,— 
Some spoke in gladness, some breathed a sigh. 
All passed in their beauty before his eye. 



He felt in his bosom a boundless thirst 

For the glory that over his spirit burst ; 

And he breathed the words in that magic thrall. 

Invoking the spirit that reigned over all. 

! cold and passionless did they seem 

To the eloquent thoughts in his being's dream. 

" Come, Poesy, to me. 
Thou bright idolatry, 

Spirit divine! 
Come with thy quenchless light, 
Come with thy smile so bright. 
And rescue from its blight 

This heart of mine. 



INVOCATION TO POESY. 173 

^^From the desolating pain, 
The soul-enthralling chain, 

Around it thrown, — 
The heart-felt agony- 
No other eye may see ; 
'Tis a fearful thing to be 

So long alone. 

" To hear no kindly word, 
To feel no bosom stirred. 
To see no ray 
Across my pathway thrown, 
That misery's self would own ; 
But to plod on, alone. 

On life's dull way. 

" Come ! Spirit ! come to me ! 
Thy bright intensity 

Will break the thrall : 
Come, to the dewy flower, 
Come, to the moon-lit bower, 
Come, at the sunset hour, — 

I love them all ! 

" Fain would I see once more 
Thy generous spirit pour 

Its influence around ; 
As when rival roses blushed, 
And the star-lit wave was hushed, 
And the sunset hour was flushed 

At the glad sound.- 



174 



INVOCATION TO FOESY. 



" Long have I turned to thee. 
Long have I bowed the knee 
Before thy shrine ; 
Then let thy thrilling tone 
Illume this darkened throne, 
That droops so long alone, 

Spirit divine ! " 



CHILDLIKE m THINE INNOCENCE. 

Childlike in thine innocence 

• Thou dost rise before my view, 
With thy locks of glossy brown, 

And thine eyes of azure hue. 
Years have passed since last we met, 

But as drops of water they, 
When I measure them with hours 

Passed when children out at play. 

Years have passed — and what art thou ? 

Thou wast once so glad and wild, 
Can I picture to myself 

Thee as other tlian a child ? 
Can the feelings we possessed 

Pass with lapse of years away ? 
They are linked within my breast 

Eound the beautiful and gay ; 

Eound the beautiful and gay; — 
Hast thou still the magic spell, 

Which my heart hath ever loved, 
Loved so long and loved so well ? 



176 CHILDLIKE m THINE INNOCEXCE. 

Do the dreams of young romance 
Tenant still thy fertile mind ? 

Brighter images than these 
Neyer memory enshrined ! 

Then we peopled the vast earth 

With bright beings fancy-formed, 
Till the space above was filled, 

And the air with fairies swarmed^ 
Then our thoughts were eagle-thoughts 

With the sunbeam's track combined! 
And the world we made was bright 

With the angels of the mind. 

Do they guard that empire still, 

Bringing music from each sphere 
Scorning all the worldly things 

That so cramp and curb us here ? 
! how cold must seem the world 

To the warm and sanguine heart. 
When the eagle-dreams of youth 

Spread their pinions to depart ! 

May they linger with us long, 

We are nought but children j^et : 
Though the world with all its wiles 

Fain would teach us to forget. 
Tho' we tread no more the fields. 

Nor the laurel-planted hill, 
Which our early footsteps trod, 

Let us, let us love them still ! 



CHILDLIKE IN THINE INNOCENCE. 177 

For tlie beings we have made 

Still inhabit those lone hills; 
And their spirit-voices ring 

From the depths of shaded rills I 
And their pinions wave above 

Like a thin, transparent cloud : 
And the air is hushed and still, 

And the stately pine is bowed. 

Oftentimes, within our hearts 

Will those spirit-voices sound, 
For their place of birth to them. 

Must be consecrated ground. 
When their known and solemn tread 

Through each dreaming bosom thrills, 
We will wander back again 

To our own familiar hills. 




OUR BEAUTIFUL TEEE. 

The tree that for years had withstood the blast, 
Oui" beautiful tree, has fallen at last ! 

The tempest came 

With its veugeful flame 
And smote to the earth its green-robed frame I 

• 

1 loved it well for the days long past, 

When the light of childhood was oyer it cast ; 

An emblem fair, 

Of our mirth and care. 
For the shade and the sunshine of life were there! 

'Tis linked with the thoughts of other years, 

'Tis linked with our childhood's smiles and tears ; 

Beneath its shade 

We have often played 
And heard the music the wild winds made ! 

It seemed to us that they stole along, 

Wound through thy leaves, and woke them to song. 

We heard a wail 

Through the long deep vale 
And thy thousand voices were on the gale. 



ASLEEP. 179 

A link is broken, a chain nnbound, 
A light in our sky no loDger found; 

The thoughts, old tree ! 

Come no more to me, 
That associate other years with thee. 

Ah ! never around a greener spot, 
Clustered brighter blossoms of thought, 

Than when we heard 

Thy dark leaves stirred. 
And spied through thy branches the singing bird. 



ASLEEP. 

She has fiillen into a deep slumber, so deep 

That the voice of affection will break it no more; 

In vain do you linger, in vain do you weep. 
The struggle is past, and the parting is o'er; 

The sweet lute is shivered, and hushed is the lay, 

The flower is broken that knew not decay. 

Death came on a sudden, and touched her young 
heart ; 
All the freshness of youth, all its beauty was 
there ; 
And 'twas better her spirit from earth should de- 
part, 
Ere yet it bowed down to the phantom despair. 



180 THE WILLOW TREES. 

She has joassed to a slumber too deep for the 

breath, 
And the angel that watches her slumbers is death. 

Then think of her not with so earthly a love, 

As to wish her again in this dark world of care ; 
The voice of her Father has called her aboYe, 

To a love more divine, to a kindred more fair ; 
He will lift from the dust the sweet treasure he 

gave ; 
He hath ransomed the sjDirit, now free, from the 
srave. 



THE WILLOW TEEES. 

They stood beside the sunlit stream that mur- 
mured by the door, 

How many a joyous melody its little voice would 
1)0 ur. 

As wild and most untamably dashed on its slen- 
der tide, 

Clad in the garments of a song, were song person- 
ified. 

It hurried in the sunshine, yet loitered in the 

shade, 
Pausing to hear the music its own mirthfulness 

had made : 



THE WILLOW TREES. 181 

When boughs so thickly interlaced would scarce 
admit a breeze, 

To whisper of their loveliness — those weeping wil- 
low trees I 

Those two old weeping willows that look'd so 
sadly down, 

As if they mourned a brilliant gem, stolen from 
the earth's fair crown ; 

Their slender branches dipping in the clear, trans- 
parent wave, 

And scattering all the drops around, as if 't were 
tears they gave. 

I see them now, as I have seen, in many a day 
gone by, 

Ere memory hid them in her heart, 'mongst treas- 
ured things to lie, 

When life first found me on its shore, a thing of 
light and love, 

With dear V^irginia's soil beneath, Virginia's skies 
above. 

I see them, and that gray old house that stood so 

meekly there. 
Where an aged couple dwelt, whose brows were fur- 

row'd o'er with care, 
With a lovely grandchild by their side, whose 

bright and laughing eyes 
Lit their declining years, as lights the sun the 

evening sky. 



182 THE WILLOW TREES. 

Sweet Emily! T see lier, as in many a long past 
hour, 

Brush back the hours as she would brush the dew- 
drop from a flower ; 

r well remember how my heart was won whene'er 
she smiled. 

For she was a lovely woman then, and I a little 
child. 

She, too, is gone ! her voice no more will mingle 
with the stream, 

Her eye no more add beauty to the rays that on it 
gleam ; 

Yet I know her heart, like mine, will swell, when- 
e'er the evening breeze 

Sighs, as it used to sigh amidst those weeping wil- 
low trees. 




AWAY, AWAY. 

Thou hast ventured at last on the sounding deep, 
Thou hast wakened the waves from their azure 

sleep ; 
The tear has been shed, and the hand been wrung, 
And thy canvas free to the wind is flung. 
Dash onward, barque! thou hast left the shore, 
Yet the rock and the tempest are on before. 
Midst the foaming billows, the scattering spray, 
Thou hast trust in thy pilot ; away, away ! 

bird of bright plumage and golden wing, 
Thou hast come to the blossoming earth to sing ? 
She is fair, and her love seems all thine own ; 
Yet an eye hath marked thee to thee unknown : 
The hunter hath gazed on thy shining crest, 
He has seen the hue of thy glossy breast ; 
Oh I seek for safety in yon bright ray, 
Thou hast trust in thy pinions ; away, away ! 

Haste, Warrior ! haste to the battle-field. 
Where few may conquer, where none may yield ; 
Why dost thou linger within the vale ? 
The voices of foemen are on the gah. 



184 THE HAND THAT TOUCHED THE KEYS. 

The trumpet sounds, and the sabre gleams.. 
And the war-red banner above them streams ; 
Haste to the joy of the coming fray ! 
Thou hast trust in thy courage; awa}^, away! 

Maiden ! go thou to the dancing-hall, 
Thy heart's in the midst of the festival ; 
Thy dark eye flashes with rapture now, 
Bright as the gems that enwreathe thy brow, 
And thy young heart beats to the thrilling song, 
And is borne on irs pinions, along, along; 
Seek then the dance and the merry lay. 
Thou hast trust in thy beauty ; away, away ! 

My soul ! mid the splendors of earthly things. 
Forget not the source whence each pleasure springs ; 
Guard well the ways of the wandering heart, 
And when it chooses the better part. 
On the wings of the morning thou shalt ascend 
To bask in the smile of thy truest friend. 
Why shouldst thou linger ? wliy longer stay ? 
Thou hast trust in thy Saviour ; away, away ! 



THE HAND THAT TOUCHED THE 
KEYS. 

The hand that touched the keys when first 

Thought into being stole. 
And like a gush of music burst 

Harmonious o'er my soul, 



COMES THT SPIRIT O'ER TEE WATERS. 185 

I bless it, for the power it gave 

To turn the past to joy, 
And in its present vigor brave 

The griefs that would destroy. 

A universe whose every space 

With melodies abound; 
A language written on each face, 

Made eloquent with sound ; 
A beauty in each timid flower 

That loves the morning-breeze ; 
It showed me in one little hour — 

The hand that touched the keys. 

A feeling that the world was mine 

And I was heaven's alone ; 
A wish to kneel at every shrine 

Built to the Great Unknown ; 
A spirit meek as love's, nor less 

Omnipotent to please ; 
! be it God's or man's, I bless 

The hand that touched the kevs. 



COMES THY SPIRIT O'ER THE WATERS. 

Comes thy spix^it o'er the waters, 
When the stars wake in the west, 

Like a bird of passage, back again 
To its deserted nest ? 



186 ONE DROP IN THE CVP OF MExMORT. 

Methinks it wanders by, 
When none are lingering nigh, 
To breathe upon my longing soul 
A last and farewell sigh. 

Although bright flowers are round thee 
And music's voice is heard, 

I know that other things than these 
Thy spirit's depths have stirred; 
Tho' summer skies are fair. 
And soft streams murmur there, 

When the echoes of thy footsteps fall 
On the untroubled air. 

0, come ! there is no music 
Like the voice of those Ave love ; 

There are no skies so fair as these 
Our own green land above; 
Loug have we watched for thee, 
Thy welcome smile to see, 

And for the coming of thy sail 
Across the dark blue sea ! 



ONE DROP IN THE CUP OF MEMORY. 

One drop in the cup of memory. 

One drop of bitterness ; 
Amid the many lovely things 

That beautify and bless. 



OKE DROP IN THE CUP OF MEMORY. 187 

How, from the outAvard world of pain 

Wherein brood toil and care, 
Into the bounds of that charmed domain, 

How found it entrance there ? 

I read on its tiny page a tale 

Of a grave and silent child, 
Whose lips but seldom spoke a word, 

And very seldom smiled, 
For idle jests would haunt his steps 

Wherever he would move ; — 
He was not formed to win the heart 

By gentleness and love. 

There was no beauty on his brow, 

No gladness in his eye ; 
And the heedless words of his merry mates 

Were passed in silence by. 
He ever gazed on his open book, 

Abstracted and alone, 
It seemed that his boyish spirit felt 

The chains around it thrown. 

There was no sympathy for him, 

For his parents were very poor; 
And tales of their abject poverty 

Were talked of o'er and o'er. 
I did not scorn him in my heart, 

Yet was I not forbid ; — 
But 1 felt ashamed to be ashamed 

To do as others did ! 



188 ONE DMOP IN THE CUP OF MEMORY. 

Alas ! when those who guide om* steps, 

In youth's unthinking ways, 
Teach us to scorn the humbler poor, 

Even in our little plays, 
They little know the store they bring 

To life's advancing years, 
To poison the wine of memory 

With drops of bitter tears ! 

One drop in the cup of memory. 

One drop of bitterness ; 
Amidst the thousand lovely things 

That vivify and bless. 
I know not if it e'er again 

Will from that cup depart ; 
But I would that bitter drop was poured 

From out that poor child's heart ! 



WOULD I WEEE A POET. 

Make not such wisli — 'tis yaiii as the ideal, 

Which the heart Avorships in its lonely hour ; 
A shadow melting into nothing real, 

When sober thought again asserts her power. 
Make not such wish — thou little knowest the 
swellings 

Found in the ocean of a poet's life, 
Around those pure and delicate indwellings, 

That gleam like jeweled caverns through the 
strife. 

The struggling of strong thoughts, the waste of 
feeling, 

The burning heart, consuming all its own, 
And like a stern and wayward spirit, sealing 

Its own strange destiny, thou hast not known; 
The many throngiug waves that, spent and wasted, 

Subside and sink into the troubled main ; 
The cup of sweet affection only tasted, 

Never to meet the eager lips again. 

Too much, too dearly loved, the heart is pouring 
Before that shrine its every life-throb out ; 

And from the classic page of mind is storing 
Its own with things of beauty or of doubt ; 



190 WOULD I WERE A POET. 

Bright thoughts that float a moment on life's 
ocean, — 

Perchance the eyes that gaze on them are blind, — 
Then downward fall with an unconscious motion 

Back to the past — that maelstrom of the mind. 

Bright thoughts like glittering phantoms some- 
times cheer us, 

And make our world a paradise of love ; 
Yet sad presentiments are ever near us. 

Haunting our footsteps wheresoe'er we move, 
That we but toil in vain — that we are burning 

Our last lamp out, not to be lit again, 
Over an idle page of worthless learning, 

Which we, alas ! would comprehend in vain. 

Towards a far port our bark of life is steering. 

Worn in the conflict with each petty wave, 
Upheld by only the vain hope of hearing 

A voice of praise, when anchored in — the grave. 
Poor compensation for a spirit broken, 

In a too aimless and uncertain flight, — 
A worn-out life, the sure and early token 

Of many a weary day and sleepless night. 

Too early loved ! — well may the spirit falter, 
When ploughing through the cheerless sea of 
doubt. 

When thus, before the sacrificial altar. 

Morn, noon and night, it pours its life-tides out. 



WOULD I WERE A POET. 



191 



Yet not reluctantly, if but, relying 
Upon the value of the gift it brings, 

Its last hopes are, like the sweet swan's, when dy- 
ing, 
To make its last the sweetest song it sings. 



Like one high-mounted on the funeral pyre, 

Bound to the body of the senseless dead, 
While all around him rise up flames of fire 

And words of dark significance are said ; 
So stands the poet in his hour of trial, 

With none to save him from the funeral pile ; 
Well knowing that entreaty were denial, 

He faces death with an accusing smile. 



LADY OF POLAND. 

Lady of Poland, wherefore art thou sad, 

Why is thine eye so dim ? 
Will not thy bosom echo to the glad 

Sound of our yesper-hymn ? 

" I heard it, and into my heart there stole 

A thousand memories, 
That brought sad recollections to my soul, 

And tears into my eyes. 

" The past arose, and pictured to my sight 

A far-off land and fair, 
Whose skies unto my heart seemed full of light, 

And fragrant was the air. 

" And then arose a home, a home of love, 

Which once I called iny own ; 
The peaceful stars a moment smiled above, 

Then left me more alone. 

" The flowers that bloomed there once, the birds 
that sung, 

Had their brief happy day ; 
When on the winds my glad notes also rung, 

But died in grief aAvay. 



LADY OF POLAND. 193 

'* My gallant brother's arm upheld me, while 

Brig lit shone our summer sun ; 
Fearless of heart ! when will you once more smile 

Upon your cherished one ? 

" Familiar voices oft in other times 

Have risen upon the air, 
When the sweet music of the evening-chimes 

Invited us to prayer. - 

"And therefore do their sounds bring to my 
heart 

Memories that will not sleep, 
And recollections that will not depart ; 

And therefore do I weep. 

"Hands that have clasped mine own in other 
days, 
Have grasped the sword instead ; 
Brows that were made to wear the soldier's 
bays. 
Have fallen among the dead. 

"Bloom and decay and life and death and all 

That makes our being bright. 
Or wraps it in a dark, funereal pall, 

Have passed before my sight. 

" Still in my dreams I hear the conqueror's tread 

Sounding across the deep ! 
Let, then, lost Poland's daughter mourn her dead, 

Let the lone exile weep. " 
9 



DAY-DEEAMS. 

Sendii^g sweet music OA-er life's dull ocean, 
Watching its changes with a strange devotion, 

That makes iis all most liopefnl 'mid the strife. 
Those birds of paradise enchant us ever, 
Making melodious every vain endeavor 

Of weary human life. 



Not even when fickle fortune's smile deceives us, 
'Nov wlien the winter of existence grieves us. 

Will tliey desert us for a sunnier strand ; 
But gathering odors even from scentless flowers, 
They make this cold and barren world of ours 

Almost like fairy-land. 



What tli'ougli we do awake when tempest lowers ? 
The happiest life will have some gloomy hours ; 

The brightest dreams will sometimes end in 
pain ; 
What matters it, though troubles do surround us ? 
So we but gather up the chain around us, 

And sleep^to dream again. 



I MISS THY LIGHT STEP DEAREST. I95 



HIS NAME HAS GONE DOWN". 

His name has gone clown to the dead abyss 

Where in fam}- hides her head ; 
Ah ! who could have dreamed that an end like this, 

Would shadow his dying bed ? 

From the silent depths of a midnight sky 

When the thunder-storm was o'er, 
He flashed like a meteor before the eye. 

And passed, to be seen no more. 



I MISS THY LIGHT STEP, DEAREST. 

I MISS thy light step, dearest, I miss thy beaming 
brow, 

I miss the music of thy voice, for thou art silent 
now ; 

The step is still, the brow is cold, the voice no 
longer heard, 

Whose echoes fell upon my ear like songs of wood- 
land bird ! 

The willow leans above thee to wonder and to 

weep. 
The violet droops above thy grave, but cannot 

break thy sleep. 



196 THE IBISH QIRL. 

The wild rose sheds her leaves around, the zephyrs 

wander near, 
They fall upon a sightless eye and on a dreamless 

ear ! 

! how the solemn twilight brings back the 

thought of thee, 
Thy sunlight of the brow and smile I loved so well 

to see ! 
The spirit-presence like a spell floats on the 

charmed air, 
To fill my soul with melody, to fill my heart with 

prayer. 

The world without thee, dearest ! is desolate to me. 
Thy memory the only star upon a midnight sea; 
The fragrance of a dying flower, hope of a broken 

heart, 
The last song of a captive bird; — such, such to me 

thou art ! 



THE lEISH GIRL. 

She stands upon the sea-washed shore, 
While folded o'er her breast, 

Her hands are clasped as if to keep 
Her yearning heart at rest. 



TEE IRISH GIBL. 197 

So stands slie, and lier eyes are turned 

Towards Erin's island-home, 
While thought flies faster than the wind 

Driyes on the flying foam. 

The waves are sliding to her feet, 

But that she heedeth not; 
The present in the mighty past 

Lies buried and forgot. 
Affection's tides are filling fast 

Her bosom to the brim, 
And in their depths all lesser things 

Are overwhelmed and dim. 

Erin! Mavourneen ! bears tlie breeze 

No message from thy shore? — 
With warm remembrances of thee 

Her heart is running o'er. 
Erin go bragh ! Thy shamrock green 

Is like thy children's hearts, 
Thro' whatsoever ills they pass. 

Their courage ne'er departs. 

Sweet girl of Erin ! in the far. 

Ear depths of memory, 
There are a thousand glorious shapes 

Made visible to thee. 
And to thy still and listening heart 

Each hath a different tone, 
A language breathing forth a sound 

Peculiarly its own. 



198 THE IRISH GIRL. 

The past is like a mighty harp 

All silent and unstrung, 
Whose sleeping strings no voice of love 

Or agony hath rung, 
But draw the wires, and o'er the chords 

Let memory's fingers fly, 
And all affection's countless throngs 

Come up before the eye. 

Look round on this green land of ours, 

And say, hast thou not known 
On its broad breast, a spot of earth 

As lovely as thine own ? 
Not one, whose wondrous beauty can 

With Brill's pride compare, 
Where bright Killarney folds her arms. 

Round Innisfallen fair? 

'' Mavourneen ! " still the moan I hear 

Of yearning and regret ; 
Howe'er the tides of life may turn 

She never can forget. 
Around the fair and emerald isle 

Her young affections cling, 
Made stronger with the lapse of years, 

Yet green as in their spring. 



SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

Whei^ first I sung, my heart was full, 
Of many a wild and witching dream, 
And all within was beautiful 

As moonlight on a tranquil stream ; 
Brightness and gladness, song and flowers 
Came in the sunshine and in showers: 
And whatsoe'er their tongues might tell, 
My own heart could interpret well. 

I thought the. mind was prone to turn, 
And after nobler things aspire 

Than the world's offers, and would burn 
With pure and intellectual fire. 

I did not think the heart would wander, 

And all its riches idly squander. 

In seeking after shining dust, 

When gold was near that would not rust. 

I heard a Yoice within my heart 
That told of high, ideal worth, 

Till shaking off its baser part 

My spirit soared away from earth. 



200 aUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

I listened to the voice that called me, 
Until its eloquence enthralled me ; 
And in the solitude of song 
My heart reposed and tarried long. 

I strove each hidden gem to find 

That yet might undiscovered hide ; 
I sought each broken link to bind 

That carelessly was cast aside. 
I drank the dew from her sweet flowers, 
I stole the odors from her bowers, 
I caught her harmonies, and long 
Inhabited the land of song. 

Tired of too sweet a solitude, 

At length I sent my spirit forth ; 
And like the dove when stayed the flood, 

To find a resting place on earth. 
It wandered restlessly and lonely. 
And found a waste of waters only, 
Or if it paused to look around, 
Not even an olive leaf it found. 

But like the dove, unto the ark, 

It could not wander back again ; 
When once it launched the spirit's barque 

On the wide waste, it must remain, 
Given up to tempest and to terror. 
To tears, to loneliness, to error ; 
So thought I, and again I sung, 
Yet sadder Avas the harp I strung. 



SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 201 

I sought the chambers of decay, 

I wandered through the halls of death ; 

I stole their sombre gloom away, 
And paused to catch the last drawn breath. 

I mingled them with every measure, 

I bound them up with every treasure, 

That trembled in my heart, and long 

I drank the bitterness of song. 

I stood alone, where all was life, 

I grieved alone where all was mirth, 

Within was a perpetual strife, 
That told me life was little worth. 

The cares, perplexities and sorrows 

That crowd upon succeeding morrows. 

Till from its animated clay, 

My loathing spirit turned away. 

Then came a change— I know not when, 

Nor how, but like a spirit's wing 
A breath of bliss came o'er me then, 

When once again I strove to sing. 
I read the language of the flowers, 
I drank the essence of the hours, 
I gathered gladness from the skies, 
And felt new hope within me rise, 

Not as of old to grasp the lyre, 

And blend its every tone with mine, 

Thus casting pure, poetic fire 
Before ambition's idol-shrine, 
9* 



203 SUNSHINE AND SHADOW. 

And not to think the bud and blossom 
Could bloom for all but my own bosom, 
Or sunshine rain on all around, 
While in my own heart darkness frowned. 



I ask no more; the laurel wreath 

That won me on with many a smile, 
A clustering blossom lies beneatli 

Wherein lurk poison, care and guile. 
I touch the chords no more in sadness, 
I sing no more of memory's madness, 
I dream no more that life is vain; 
The jewel lost is found again. 



Could we but read the heart aright. 
Could we but learn in Heaven to trust. 

How much of doubt would take its flight, 
How much w^ould shine, now dim with rust! 

We then should read from others' feelings 

Those pure and exquisite revealings 

That lead the heart in bliss along, 

And never speak, except in song. 



Oh Thou! who dAvellest so far above. 
Grant me some portion of Thy might, 

To never speak, except in love. 
To never judge, unless aright. 



SUXSBIXB AND SHADOW. 



203 



Grive me the power to steep my lyre, 
Only in pure, poetic fire ; 
To warm the hearts of all I see, 
And feel it sanctified by Thee ! 






THE EVENING STAR. 

J. C. D. 

Sweet star I in the calmness and stillness of even 
You burst on my gaze like a spirit of Heaven, 
Looking out from beliiiidtlie dark curtain of night, 
An image of beauty, all radiant and bright! 
Not like a young bride by the loved of her youth, 
You stand all alone like tlie image of truth, 
Looking tranquilly out on the darkness around, 
Unshackled by fetters, in spirit unbound ! 

Lone star! mid the glimmering darkness of night, 
You beam on my heart like a vision of light ; 
Night is closing her shadowy garments around 
The clear running stream, and the frost-jeweled 

ground, 
Yet thou from thy bright tower gazest below, 
As if curiously watching the deep shadows grow, 
While Night sits unfolding her wide-spreading 

robe, 
To wrap round the silent and slumbering globe ! 

Bright star ! in the loveliness brooding above, 
You break on my dreams like an angel of love ; 



THE LIVING AND THE BEAD. 205 

Thou flower of Heaven that nightly dost bloom, 
O'er the earth as her flowers bloom over the 

tomb ! 
They are but a beautiful emblem of thee, 
Blooming on the far shores of eternity: - 
They die on the graves of full many a clime, 
As thou too shalt die at the funeral of time. 



THE LlVma AND THE DEAD. 

MoURK not the dead !— No more the death l)y sor- 
row. 
That poisons life even to its inmost springs. 
Or lights with sickly hope each dull to-morrow. 
Hath power to weigh to earth their spirit's 
wings. 
Their sighs are hushed ; the griefs have long de- 
parted 
That concentrated in their bosom's core ; 
The links that bound them to the earth are parted. 
Why should we mourn for them, the weary- 
hearted ? — 
Weep for the dead no more ! 

Tears for the living ! — that each fond endeavoi 
To snatch their name from dark oblivion's wave, 

Though in the strife the tenderer heart-strings 
sever, , 

Should only drag them nearer to the grave !— 



206 THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. 

Bright hopes that came to them in golden showers, 

Fond promises that were too dear to keep, 
Tears that were shed in vain o'er dying jlowers. 
These haunt them yet through the night's stormy 
hours ; — 
Weep for the living, weep! 

Mourn not the dead ! — No more the tranquil bosom 

Shall feel the pains that eat its life away ; 
No more the canker shall molest the blossom. 
The cloud no more shall intercept the ray ; 
Safe from the shocks that heave life's billowy 
ocean. 
Their barks have reached at last a peaceful 
shore, 
Where nevermore one agonized emotion 
Shall thrill their hearts amidst the dark commo- 
tion; — 
Weep for the dead no more ! 

Tears for the living! — down the sea of error 

Their barks are hastening towards destruction's 
goal; 
O'ershadow'd by dismay and doubt and terror ; — 

Pray for the welfare of each passing sonl ! 
Toss'd by the waves of falsehood, tempest-shaken, 

Its best gifts thrown to the remorseless deep. 
The spirit long its mourning-garb hath taken ; 
Oh ! it is sad /rom our first dreams to waken ; — 

Weep for the living, weep! 



GIVE ME THY HEART. 207 

Mourn not the dead ! — Their sins are all forgiven ; 

No bitter memories luiunt their being now, 
From tliem no more shall cherished ties be riven, 

Nor agonies o'erclond the hopeless brow. 
Ah ! who ill this cold world would dwell forever, 

To mourn for things the world cannot restore ? 
To see, day after day, fate's rude hand sever 
Fond hearts to be again united never? — 

Weep for the dead no more ! 

Tears for the living ! Pray for tlie awaking 

From cherished dreams that all too quickly fly; 
Better the heart should break at once, than 
breaking 

From day to day, sink slowly down and die. 
Who would not sooner die, than see each token 

Of young affection pass in dust away ? 
Or hear from once loved lips the cold words spoken 
That leave the worn-out heart all bruised and 
broken ? — 

Pray for the living, pray ! 



GIVE ME THY HEART. 

Ik youth's glad morn, when the young heart is full 
Of love for all the world — when earth is bright 

With many flowers, and heaven is beautiful 
With the magnificent glories of the night; 



208 GIVE ME THY HEART. 

When all things wear for thee a look of love, 

And thou liast faith and confidence in all,^ 
Hear'st thou not then, as from the world above 
Unto thy heart a strange, mysterious call, 
A voice within thy soul which speaketh ever, 
Whose tones are silent in thy bosom never? — 
^•'Give me thy heart." 

Give in thy early spring-time I ere the rust 

Of earth hath soiled thy young soul's purity, 
And laid its brightest blossom in the dust, 

The glorious hope of immortality ; 
Give ! and thy strength shall fail not, and thy soul 

Shall shrink not from the storms that hover o'er; 
Shall stem the breakers that around thee roll, 
And land in safety on the promised shore ; 
Where thou may's t worship at His feet forever, 
Whose voice is whispering in thy bosom ever, 

" Give me thy heart ! " 




MY PLAYMATES. 

Ah, yes ! methinks I see them stand 

Before me even now; 
I grasp each dear, familiar hand, — 

I gaze on each remembered brow. 
They are the same — to me the same — 

As when I gazed upon them last; 
For time can neither dim nor tame 

Those visions of the past. 
Our hearts may change, our hopes may Avane, 
Butt hose bright visions will remain. 

Though time has passed, with lengthened chain, 

And bid some flowers depart. 
That blossomed in the smiling train 

Which decked the life-wreath of the heart ; 
The loveliest and the dearest ones 

Eemain to grace the dying scene, 
To mingle their regretful tones 

In grief for what has been. 
To shed a fragrance o'er the tomb 
Of those that rest within its gloom. 

Then will the love that shed a beam 

Of heaven upon our hearts 
Eemain, until the last, sweet dream 

That lights their darkness up departs ; 



210 3fT FLA TMA TES. 

Yes ! there it lingers, still the same, 
Unchanged by care, untouched by pain. 

Linked with each old, familiar name. 
In recollection's chain ! 

And ere that love is dimmed with rust, 

Its throne will crumble into dust. 



Though thought will sometimes wander here, 

To tell us what they are. 
Remembrance whispers in our ear 

But to remind us that they were 
The loved companions of our youth, 

Whose joys were joys that we could share. 
Whose hearts were guileless as the truth 

So deeply seated there ; 
Ah ! though our feet may onward roam, 
Our hearts are with our childhood's home. 



They linger still beneath the skies 

That first upon them shone, 
Where yet our best affections rise 

Like incense from its altar-stone ; 
Making sweet music through the woods, 

Though not a sound may echo there, 
And filling the deep solitudes 

With some familiar air. 
That oft would rise, and echo long 
Through the dark woods — that sweet, old song! 



MY PLAYMATES. 



Ill 



Dear playmates ! ere the rose-leaves fall, 

They fill with fragrant breath 
The air ; and so I breathe, to all, 

Out from my life's fast-fading wreath 
Of' simple wild-flowers, one fond song ; 

A loving souvenir from me, 
Who'd fain the dear old friends among, 

Thereby remembered be, 
When I no more shall sing or sigh, 
Or heed the seasons where I lie. 



HEAVENLY MUSIC. 

*'If the music of earth is so sweet, what must be the music of 
heaven, where all the heavenly hosts unite their voices, ten 
thousand upon ten thousand." 

Harlan Page. 

Feom the lowly jBlower to the house of prayer, 

The Yoice of music is everywhere ; 

Tis felt in the breast of the opening rose, 

'Tis heard Avhere the deep blue water flows, 

In the breeze-struck tones of the leafy trees, 

In the sounding waves of the mighty seas; 

'Tis heard in the bower where the wild birds 

throng ; — 
The earth is filled with the voice of song. 

It has made the cell like a forest-bower, 
And the bed of death has felt its power ; 
The human voice hath bid it bless, 
And the heart responds to its holiness. 
When music speaks, even pride relents 
At the sound of its voice-like instrumencs, 
And passion is stilled as it floats along ; — 
! the heart is full of the power of song ! 

! if such music to earth be given, 

How sweet to the soul must be that of heaven, 



THE GRAVES OF A HOVSEHOLD. 213 

"When the angels join, in a countless throng, 
To praise the glory of God in song ! 
soul ! how long will this prisoning clay- 
Confine thy longings for flight away, 
To tune thy voice in praise with them, 
And dwell in the ligfht of His diadem ? 



THE GEAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. 

Peace! peace to her slumbers 1 she too is at rest, 

Where her heart shall know sorrow no more ; 
"We have placed, sadly placed the green sod on her 
breast, 

As we laid it on others before ; 
Yet afar are the graves of our own kindred band, 

And the soft tears of sorrow we shed, 
As our thoughts sadly fly to a far distant land, 

Where slumber our earlier dead ! 

! fair isle of Erin ! thou emerald isle, 

To our hearts is thy memory dear, 
Though our lips have forgot their accustomed 
smile. 

And our eyes since shed many a tear. 
We have treasured a thousand kindred ties, 

We .have dream'd of thy skies of blue. 
We have thought of thy children's affectionate eyes. 

And their high deeds of daring too. 



214 THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. 

say ! does the footstep yet linger in love, 

Does a kind hand still strew the sweet flowers, 
Do the stars look lovingly down from above, 

On those far distant graves of ours ? 
They are ours forever, though years have passed by 

Since we gazed on that island of green ; 
They are ours forever, though many and high 

Are the waves that roll darkly between. 

! sad was the hour when we bade thee adieu. 

Where our brothers yet tranquilly sleep, 
"When over the waters our gallant ship flew. 

As if proud of her home on the deep. 
Yet our hearts, as we thought on those desolate 
graves, 

Still sadder and heavier grew, 
When beneath us was nought but an ocean of 
waves, 

Nought above but an ocean of blue. 

But a few days had passed, when we stood on the 
deck 

While the daylight's first blushes were born ; 
Above us, iu heaven, not even a speck 

Disturbed the calm beauty of morn ; 
Yet sadly we gazed on that heaven of blue, 

And mournfully down on the deep, 
As on, like a sea-bird, our gallant ship flew. 

Scarce waking the waves from their sleep. 



THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. 215 

For death was among us : the young and the gay 

Lay down in their beauty and died ; 
And we grieved that the ocean should claim them 
her prey, 

As they peacefully slept side by side. 
But the plunges that followed, the white forms 
that sped 

Far down to the depths of the sea, 
Will haunt us forever, like ghosts of the dead, 

Wherever our wanderings may be. 



Green island ! thou boldest our earliest graves. 

As thou knewest our earliest woes ; 
And within your far depths, ! magnificent waves. 

As many loved calmy repose ; 
And the murmuring streams of the far-spreading 
West 

Have mingled our griefs with their own, 
As we, exiles, the turf laid on exiled breasts, 

And left them to slumber alone ! 



The graves of a household ! — ! separate far 
Do the dead of our household repose ; 

Yet Hope o'er those graves, like the light of a 
star, 
Its beam of intelligence throws. 



216 



THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD. 



We know not liow long till the dawn of that day 
AYhen the dead shall be ours again ; 

But we know that the ocean shall yield up her 
Pi-ey, 
And the earth strive to hide it in vain. 




CALL IT NOT FOLLY. 

Call it not folly, if the tongue 

Murmurs of old familiar lays, 
That oft to ancient harp has sung 

The songs of other days. 
Their melodies so fill my soul 

I cannot treasure every sound ; 
And, rich in wealth beyond control, 

I pass the gift around. 

O say not that I dissipate 

My music on the empty air ; 
There is no spot so desolate 

That nof on-e flower is there. 
On one heart in its misery 

The hopefulness of mine may glow ; 
So full it is of melody, 

'Twill sometimes overflow. 

Think it not folly that my heart 

Hath treasured word, and look, and tone, 
And kept them silent and apart 

From all the world hath known. 
They are the silver chords of life. 

The heart-strings of affection's lute. 
And although silenced by the strife, 

Are not forever mute. 
10 



2is 1^ PR^ 'YER. 

Then, when so many numbers thrill 

My heart with music sweet and low, 
No wonder that, like mountain rill, 

It swells to overflow ! 
Deep in its inmost cells they throng,— 

Affection's every sainted one, — 
Then rise until they burst in song. 

And sometimes overrun ! 



IN PRAYER. 

Lowly she kneels in her dim retreat, 

And her eyes are dark with the thoughts that fleet 

Across their azure, as shadows shy 

In the depths of a dark blue summer sky. 

Softly one hand to her heart is pressed. 
To still the throbbing withiu her breast; 
And the smile hath faded away from her brow, 
In the holier thoughts that subdue it now. 

She hath little to be forgiven, I ween, 
For her innocent soul in her eyes is seen, 
And small the grief that hath entered there, 
To haunt her bosom with dreams of care. 

She seemeth now like a bud in June, 

Timid and graceful — to die as soon ; 

And, as to the rose, to her are given 

The dreams of earth with the gifts of heaven, — 



IN PRAYER. . 219 

The fraorrance that lives Ion 2^ after death, 
The hope that inspires with every breath, 
The wealth of love that is often given 
To the humblest child of our God in heaven ; 

These bless her life, and will ever bless, 
Though the world prove to her a wilderness ; 
Sweet flowers that spring from the desert-gloom, 
As the soul flies heavenward from the tomb. 

Oh ! prize them well ! for thy heart is stirred, 
Sweet girl ! like the heart of a woodland bird, 
Too much, too much, with the brilliant things 
That attract to the earth thy spirit's wings. 

Thou wilt pause where its fountains murmuring 

flow ; 
That their waters are bitter thou soon wilt know, 
And turn, despairing, to deem, ]3erchance. 
Even hope of heaven a wild romance. 

Yet lose not hope ! on thy tranquil brow 
No dread of the future is weighing now ; 
But on it rests from thy spirit's wings, 
The shadowy glimpse of sublimer things. 

That is over thee now, as thou kneelest there, 
Lifting to heaven thy earnest prayer ; 
Pilling thy bosom with thoughts as bright 
As stars that shine through the darkest night: 



220 ITALY'S DAUGHTER. 

The hope of a better world that lies 
In the fathomless depths of thy spiritual eyes ; 
Whose blessed light hath a language given, 
That speaks unto earth of the things of heayen. 



ITALY'S DAUGHTER. 

She stole from my heart like a wave from a foun- 
tain, 
That stealeth sweet song from the heart of the 

mountain ; 
But not like that wave leaving music behind her, 
That changed into rapture each hope that enshrined 

her ; 
But like a torn ship lying dead on the water 
Was the heart she left desolate — Italy's daughter. 

I knew that a beam had deserted life's ocean, 
Which love had watched over with earnest devo- 
tion ; 
But knew not the name of the glory departed, 
That left me so lonely and desolate-hearted, 
Until over the dark waves a spirit-bird sought her 
And then I remembered her — Italy's daughter. 

And still o'er the far waves a holy watch keeping, 
Unchilled by repinings, yet chastened with weep- 
ing, 



ITALY'S DAUGHTER. 



221 



Though the storms of Jife's ocean in vain would 

dissever, 
M}^ heart watches over her, faithful forever; 
For still flies the spirit-bird over the water, 
And still I remember her — Italy's daughter ! 



CELEBRATION DAY. 

I SIKG, but not as those who sang 

Of battles fought, of victories won, 
When freedom's voice triumphant rang 

In thunder, for the work well done. 
I love that theme of other times 

Whose spell around my heart is thrown, 
And more, far more than other climes 

Love I the land I call my own ; 
Yet not for these I weave the song, 



And not for these I wake the lay: 
thee, the lost! these strains beL 
To thee I consecrate the day! 



Three years have passed, three years have sent 
Their shadows o'er the thronging earth; 

The voices of three years have blent 
Their mingled tones of grief and mirth. 

Oh ! heard'st thou not the solemn strain, 
And heard'st thou not the tuneful lay ? . 

Could not thy spirit burst the chain 
That fettered it so far away. 



CELEBRATION- DAY. 223 

To gaze upon the calm, glad skies, 
To rove beneath their quiet blue, 

To mark each starry front arise 
And smile as thou wast wont to do ? 

My heart is very sad to-day ; 

I know not why it is so sad, 
For I have seen the bright array — 

Have felt each life-pulse beating glad : 
Have gazed upon men's flashing eyes, 

And felt that courage dwelt within, 
Lips, that would scorn ignoble sighs, 

Hearts, all too proud to dream of sin. 
Have heard the spirit-stirring song, 

That told of great victorious wars ; 
Around me was an eager throng, 

Above me waved the stripes and stars. 

A glorious sight ! and yet my heart 

Was not with them, nor felt their sway; 
But, standing sadly and apart 

I thought of thee the live-long day. 
I stood in spirit by thy side — 

I heard thy voice so like a sigh, 
And felt how much of hope had died 

In thy blue, melancholy eye. 
The hectic flush was on thy cheek, 

The damp of death was on thy brow, 
The dews of night, the day's last streak ; 

I saw them then, I see them now : 



224 CELEBRATION DAY. 

And I must weep, as then I wept, 

For thine was a most noble mind, 
"Where reason stumbled not, nor slept, 

]^or threw one doubtful ray behind. 
As some sweet stream, by day unknown, 

Eaises at night its song of love. 
Whose calm invigorating tone 

Fills the blue vault of heaven above, 
So passed thy life, a hidden stream, 

None but a few had ever found ; 
Yet on its breast shone many a beam. 

And many a flower was scattered round. 

A star from life's bright diadem 

Has fallen, and can no more return ; 
And many a heart has missed a gem, 

Which all too carelessly was worn. 
Like jewels thrown neglected by. 

Well satisfied that they are ours, 
Our. best affections ofttimes lie, 

Conceal'd among earth's meaner flowers. 
And often do our feelings prove 

How much our carelessness has cost ; 
We seldom know how much we love 

Till all that we have loved is lost ! 

Lost one ! while this revolving day 
Comes with the rolling years along, 

To thee I will awake my lay, — 
To thee will dedicate my song. 



CELEBBA TION DA Y. 225 

And while it rises from my lieart, 

Like incense from a broken urn, 
To drink the incense be thy part, 

For well I know thou wilt return. 
Thou wilt return when the fair earth 

Is bright with starlight and with showers, 
To bend in love above the mirth 

Seen in the young, confiding flowers! 

Thou wilt return — ^not to mine eye, 

But to my spirit wilt appear, 
Clothed in the immortality 

Which I but vainly pine for here. 
And thy dear eyes will look in mine, 

And thy soft voice will reach mine ear, 
To tell of joys that now are thine, 

Up in yon blue, celestial sphere. 
! it is happiness to know, 

While thro' this darksome world we move. 
That those whom we have loved below 

AYill plead for us in heaven above. 




10* 



THE MESSENGER ROSE. 

Go forth as a stranger, my beautiful rose, 

To die in a far distant land ! 
Haste o'er the dark water between us that flows, 

To one of our own kindred band. 
With the language of beauty and purity fraught, 

From the home of his heart thou shalt go. 
To breathe in his ear every exquisite thought, 

Such thoughts as tlie loved only know. 

** I have come from the home of thy youth," thou 
shalt say, 

" Where the blue skies are shining above ; 
I have left all my own sister-roses to-day, 

To bring thee a message of love. 
Affection's embassy, I faithful fulfill. 

For this I have hitherward flown ; 
Affection's memento, — ! cherish me still, 

AVhen my beauty is faded and gone. 

*^I have seen the broad prairie stretch Avide from 
my sight, 

As I gazed on its glory the while; 
And a shadow of darkness, a gleam of delight 

Passed by, like a frown and a smile. 



THE MESSENGER ROSE. 227 

Eacli voice from the flowery desert seemed stern 
To the music from whence I had come ; 

A stranger, and restless, I longed to return 
And bathe in the sunlight of home. 

*• I have come to thee now, I have come from afar, 

From the home of thy kindred away; 
I have come from tlie spot which thy boyhood's 
proud star 

Once lighted for many a day. 
And well do I know what my welcome will be, 

Though the exile thou should'st not retain. 
Though broken and lost, I'll remain still to thee 

One link in thy memory's chain ! 

"The wild prairie-flower may gladden thy gaze, 

Yet a void will remain in thy heart; 
It cannot recall to thee boyhood's proud lays, 

Nor voices to memory impart. 
That potency's mine, and my power it will be 

While the past with the present shall blend ; 
While one hope of thy youth clings in beauty to 
thee, 

To bid each new impulse ascend. 

** A mirror of memory to thee I'll be. 
Whence visions of beauty shall start ; 

And a voice from my pale leaves will whisper to 
thee, 
' I have come from thy kindred in heart.' 



228 



THE 3IESSENGEB ROSE. 



Oh ! think of them kindly, and let not a thought 

Of pain overshadow with gloom ; 
Oh ! think of them kindly, and all nnforgot 



Be the magical music of home ! 



** And when my sweet influence wins back thy 
mind, 

When the bright stream of memory flows. 
When life's immortelles round thy temples are 
twined, 

Forget not the Messenger Eose ! 
For I come from the home of thy kindred to-day, 

A message of love to impart : 
Ah ! think of me still, when the blight of decay, 

Has smitten the bloom of my heart! " 



BURIAL OF HERNANDO DB SOTO. 

[" The discoverer of the Mississippi was buried at the dead of 
night, unknown to his soldiers, beneath its waves. Of all his 
discoveries, he found none so magnificent as his grave."] 

There came no yoice on the midnight air 

To tell of a warrior gone ; 
They chanted there no funeral prayer 

For the soul of the lifeless one. 
But the sound of waves, as they glided by, 

A solemn requiem gave, 
And the starlight showered from the mourning 
sky, 

Like gems, on the deep dark wave. 



His soldiers lay around him there 

Wrapt up in slumber deep. 
They felt no fear, they knew no care, 

Yet his was a deej^er sleep. 
They dreamed that they stood on the distant 
shore 

Of their native land again, — 
He, even in visions, will roam no more 

Od the fields of sunny Spain ! 



230 BURIAL OF HERNANDO BE SOTO. 

Why came he here, like an exiled man, 

To rest in an exile's grave ? 
A lovelier and more famous land 

Was his beyond the wave. 
Perchance the shores that he loved the best 

Shall never sound his name, 
Yet the kingly realm of the mighty West 

Will guard and preserve his fame. 

A sound of sorrow, a stifled sigh 

Came up from the rolling wave ; 
Like the tearful cry when the mighty die, 

It burst from his opening grave. 
For the death of the brave, that funeral strain 

Uttered its tones of grief; 
Yet woke it not his slumbering train. 

To weep for their fallen cliief. 

They buried him there, where a tliousand lights 

Looked down on his tranquil breast ; 
The night wept tears o'er his funeral rites, — 

Stars lighted his place of rest. 
The dark Mississipj^i's turbid tide 

Over his bones shall flow, 
And where these lie in its channel wide. 

No man shall ever know. 

They sunk him beneath the cold, dark wave, — 
With his glory clothed and crowned; 

A royaller grave he could not crave. 
Than that which he sou2fht and found. 



BURIAL OF HERNANDO BE SOTO. 



231 



And long as the Mississippi's surge 
Rolls down to the Mexique sea, 

Its solemn chant shall th' eternal dirge 
Of Heekaj^t de Soto be. 



FOREFATHERS' ROCK. 

["The vessel landed in December at a place that has since 
obtained the name of Forefathers' Rock, The first person that 
stepped out of the boat upon the rock, is said to have been a 
girl of the name of Mary Chilton."] 

Parley's Tales. 

Before thee a wilderness, stretching wide — 
Behind thee was ocean, strong in pride ! 
Did not thy heart within thee fail, 
Fair girl of England ! thy cheek turn pale, 
When, ocean-dangers o'ercome and past. 
Thou didst find but a dreary home at last ? 
When, weary of waves and the w^ater's roar, 
Thou didst long for the dark green earth once 

more. 
The wild birds' song, and the quiet breeze, 
And the peaceful hum of the distant seas, — 
For the vine-clad cottage beside the spring, 
And the songs which thy childhood loved to sing ? 

In fancy I oft have pictured thee, 
Young traveler over a bounding sea, 
Standing upon an unknown shore, 
The waves behind thee, the wilds before, 



FOREFATHERS' ROCK. 233 

With one hand pressed to thy bosom near, 
And one extended in awe and fear : 
I have pictured thee on the sea-worn rock, 
Free from the storm and the tempest-shock, 
And thought of the home of thy infant glee ; 
Have fancied what thy heart said to thee, 
As thou didst stand, by the sky defined, 
With a look half sorrowful, half resigned. 



There were kind ones with thee, the loved, the 

true ; 
Yet over the water thy fond heart flew, 
And ties just broken were clasped again. 
And bound once more in a silken chain ; 
The memories of childhood were dear to thee — 
They are dear to us ever, on land or sea. 
Perchance there were written upon thy heart 
Scenes, which thy tongue might never impart. 
Perchance there were whispered within thine ear 
Words, none other than thine might hear, 
For thee to remember, forever and aye, 
When the scenes of thy girlhood were far away ! 



They are passed forever, those happy hours, 
Vanished away with the birds and flowers ! 
They are gone ! and their memories will return 
But as the sunset, above an urn 



234 FOEEFATHERU' ROCK. 

Where the heart's best treasures, though rich and 

rare, 
Must rest forever — forever there ! 
They are gone, but the music of far-off streams 
Will be heard by thee in thy nightly dreams, 
And words that have reached thee, familiar 

words, 
Will melt through tKy heart like the song of birds. 
Breathing of home to thy dreaming mind, 
Of hopes far distant, but unconfined. 

What was thy fate ? Did an early grave 

Wait for thy passage over the wave? 

Did the mournful memories of days long past 

Thy grieved heart haunt, till it broke at last ? 

Did the murmured voices of other times 

Call back thy spirit to fairer climes. 

To visit once more thy birds and flowers, 

To live again life's perfumed hours ? 

Or did the violet spring above 

A bosom whose every throb was love, 

And the wild bird build her nest on high, 

Unconscious of her who slumbered nigh ? 

Or did the forest retreat before 
Thine eyes from the ever-sounding shore ? 
Did blooming gardens bedeck the ground — 
Did peaceful dwellings appear around — 
Till thou sawest, at life's *•' eventful close," 
The " wilderness blossom as the rose ? " 



FOREFATHERS' ROCK. 235 

From the deep, dim woods did thy prayer ascend, 
When thou watcliedst the evening shadows blend ? 
Like incense from out the fragrant sod, 
Didst thou pour thy spirit- voice abroad, 
Hallowing the woods, so dark and dim, 
With the solemn sound of thy vesper-hymn ? 

Ah! who may tell? there are none on earth 

That may tell of thee, of thy timid work, 

Of the love that dwelt in thy quiet breast, 

Eor all earth's children, pure, unsuppressed. 

AYe know not if beauty upon thy brow 

Had placed her signet ; — what matter, now ? 

We only know that thy foot trod here. 

That thy name was Mary — that thou wert dear; 

For every one hath some kindred heart, 

As every soul hath a better part ; 

That at last thine eyes saw the stars no more, 

And thy spirit went to the unknown shore. 




THE FOREST. 

'^ We stand, though years on years have rolled 

And finished their weary length ; 
And onr dark leaves glitter, our branches fold, 

Proud in their native strength. 
We lift up our heads towards the azure sky, 

Glistening in pale moonlight. 
When is heard. the night-bird's piercing cry, 

Through the trembling silence of night. 

" On our bosom a sign of gloom we wear. 

Through which as the dim mists stray, 
The graceful forms of the bounding deer 

Vanish in beauty away ; 
And the deep, clear notes of the forest-bird 

Melt through the shadowy space. 
Where never the sounding axe was heard 

Felling our ancient race. 

" We stand, though year hath followed year. 

And finished a weary length, 
And, feeling of storm and time no fear. 

Exult in our lusty strength. 



THE FOREST. 237 

Grand as the skies that it looks upon 

Is our bright and golden sheen ; 
Our secrets are all unheard, unknown, 

And our depths are by man unseen." 

So sang the forest, as it swung 

Its lithe arms towards the sky. 
And the air was filled and the branches rung 

With the kingly minstrelsy; 
The leaping fountain sent its voice 

To join with the chanting throng, 
And like a sinless soul rejoice 

In the ecstasy of song. 

And the little flowers that blushed unseen, 

Their heads in reverence bowed ; 
Like sAveet thoughts in the heart, I ween, 

Unvalued by the crowd ; 
Yet for the richness poured on earth, 

They blessed the minstrel-hand, 
And sent their fragrant spirits forth. 

To join with the minstrel-band. 

So looked the forest, dark and high, 

A thing of seeming pride ; 
For its head was heaving towards the sky, 

And its arms extended wide. 
It stood like a strong and mighty realm, 

Unvisited by foes ; 
Yet there was none to guide the helm, 

In the hour of its repose. 



238 THE FOREST. 

For hark! hark! from its farthest bound, 

A sharp, quick blow is heard! 
And the mighty forest, at the sound, 

Is with strong anger stirred. 
But still the sound recurs, and then 

A sudden crash succeeds. 
With echoing shouts of hardy men, 

The doers of evil deeds. 

The sentence is read — let the forest grieve, 

For the axe strikes at its root ; 
Tt is idle to cherish hope of reprieve, 

For the trees bear golden fruit ; 
And one by one, tliey must pass away, 

And let in the sun's warm rays, . ' 
Like a strong race smitten by decay, 

In the noontide of their days. 

They must fall — but nobly will they fall. 

Like warriors in their pride ; 
Each stately trunk attests to all. 

How fearlessly it died ! 
They must fall! but their foes will cry aloud, 

And no bootless warrior sing 
Like the high Hungarian chief, who vowed 

His corse worth the plundering. 

stately forest ! much of gold 

Is locked in thy bosom fast ; 
Though richer than Persian kings of old, 

It will all be seized at last. 



THE FOREST. 



239 



For men have entered thy cliarmed domain, 
And empire liatli found a prey ! 

And tliou must yanisb from the plain, 
As she extends her sway. 



THE GRANDMOTHER. 

A BENT and a broken form hath she 
Who hath breathed the breath of a century ; 
Whose eye is dim with wandering back, 
Along life's weary and wasted track ; 
Whose heart is tired with tnrning o'er 
Leaf after leaf in memory's store ; 
Whose mind is weary and almost fled, 
With the visions on which it long has fed. 

How long a history hath she. 

Who hath lived the life of a century ! 

Of men who long have passed away, 

Whose names now live in some martial lay, 

Whose faces, in days and years long gone. 

She many a time hath gazed upon ; 

Whose voices, now silent as long-past chimes, 

Have thrilled in her ear a thousand times. 

I have seen her sit in her old arm-chair, 
With her wrinkled brow and her silver hair, 
That looked as soft and white and clear, 
As snow on the brow of the dying year ! 



THE GRANDMOTHER. 241 

And eager faces would gather round, 
All anxious to catch the slightest sound 
Of the tales she often before had told, 
Of those trying times, the times of old. 

She can tell how wildly her heart did thrill 
When she heard the cannon from Bunker Hill, 
And almost break, when called to view 
The death of some gallant friend she knew; 
She can tell how freely her aid she gave, 
Some trembling fugitive to save, 
And how her heart would swell in wrath 
Against those who followed upon his path. 

And her voice will fail when s^e tells of one, 

Of her youngest-born and favorite son. 

Who marched, with the weapon he scarce could 

wield. 
In his home-spun garb, to the battle-field ; 
How nobly he fought by his father's side, 
How nobly he battled, how bravely died. 
In the rebel ranks, in the foremost line, 
On the fatal banks of the Brandy wine. 

She can tell how her heart with pain would beat. 
When she saw the naked and bleeding feet 
Of those who fought for their country's rights, 
Through scorching days and wintry nights ; 
How her eyes with indignant fire would flash, 
When she saw the British squadrons dash 

n 



242 THE GRANDMOTHER. 

Away, m gay and gallant trim — 

And then she would weep to thijik of him. 

She can tell of Trenton's well-fought field. 
Where many a fate was forever sealed — 
Of Monmouth's bloody and fatal plain, 
Where England witnessed her bravest slain. 
She can tell of many a well-fought day, 
When the starry banner led the way; 
Of Andre's capture, his youth, his pride, 
How bravely he lived, and the death he died. 

And then her voice will grow deep and stern, 
And her eye with a smothered fire will burn, 
When she speaks of him who his country sold, 
For a shining treasure of worthless gold. 
And then she will smile to tell of those 
Whose eyes were ever upon their foes, 
From the tangled wood, from the deep morass, 
Where none but Marion's men could pass. 

Oh, many a history hath she 

Who hath lived the life of a century! 

Whose heart is tied with a golden thread 

To the prouder stories of years long fled. 

Whose generation hath nearly passed, 

Who stands, of her kindred, almost the last ; 

For her children have left her, and gone before, 

To the peaceful rest of the unknown shore! 



THE GRANDMOTHER. 



243 



On the cheek, I have witnessed bitter tears, 
Of those who have numbered scarce twenty years; 
And thought how fitter to weep was she 
Who had felt the storms of a century ; 
Whose feet had many a time been worn, 
Whose heart had many a time been torn. 
And who yet lived on, through griefs and tears, 
Bearing the weight of a hundred years ! 



MY OLD PEEOEPTOR. 

Nat, smile not if T loved him ! recollection, 
That old familiar friend, attends us still, 

Retaining in her grasp a rare collection 

Of hoarded treasures, long-past scenes, that 
thrill 

The bosom with sweet memories, fond affection. 
That bends above the grave of good and ill. 



Oft in the summer-time, when day-light slumbers 
And stars look sweetly from their homes on high; 

When heavy dew, like tears, the flower encumbers, 
And the soft breeze on sleepy wing goes by, 

I listen to the music of her numbers. 

And phantoms, like familiar friends, draw nigh. 



I've seen the dead take their accustomed places, 
Beside me, on the never-fading green ; 

And distant ones draw near, with smiling faces, 
Eager to hear of wonders that have been. 

And passed away, or left unmeaning traces, 
That mock at glory, and the toils of men. 



MY OLD PBEGEPTOE. 245 

And tliey, from out whose hearts the priceless treas- 
ure 
Of conscious truth, has long since passed away ; 
Within whose minds is darkness without measure, 

A darkness that will never end in day ; 
They rise around, with, brows all bright with pleas- 
ure, 
Such as the false world dooms to sure decay. 



And they, within whose hearts fond memory never 
May find a time to breathe one thought of me ; 

Whose all is centered in one vast endeavor 
To build a monument the world may see; 

They come with eyes undimmed, hearts warm as 
ever, 
And take their places round me joyously. 

He, too, is there, whose sun has long departed. 
Who lived his life out with no settled plan ; 

Patient, yet proud, hasty, yet gentle-hearted; 
So inconsistent is the heart of man. 

The " observed of all observers " — ere we parted 
How oft our anxious eyes his face would scan. 

Some mischief done, or else in contemplation, 
Some course to track, man would not dare pur- 
sue, 
Fear of discovery, or the palpitation 



246 ^^Y OLD PRECEFTOR. 

That brings a wislied-for moment into view, — 
These mark our course with a strange hesitation, 
And conscience sometimes checks the school-boy, 
too. 

A sigh for thee! in this cold world of ours. 
Though stern to others, thou wast kind to me, 

And as above thy grave the humbler flowers, 
At eventide, sweet fragrance breathe o'er thee, 

So would I give, friend of departed hours. 
One simple offering to thy memory. 



THE EMIGRANTS' RETURN. 

They had traveled many a weary mile. 

And now they stood once more 
Beside their old ancestral home, 
- Their journey ings well nigh o'er : 
Then rose each dear, familiar scene, 

Before their earnest eyes, 
Clad, as they oft had pictured them. 
In hues of paradise. 

Closely the woodbine clung above 

The lowly oaken door. 
Like young affection clasping round 

The old and feeble poor : 
The rose still blushed her Jife away, 

In listening to a dream. 
And the sunbeam lay upon the hill, 

The shadow on the stream. 

The change that maketh food for grief, 

And seemeth everywhere. 
The autumn to affection's leaf, 

Had left no shadow there : 



248 THE EMIGRANTS' RETVRN. 

The same spring beauty lingered round, 

On each familiar spot ; 
Man leaves his dwelling place for aye, 

But Nature heedeth not. 

So thought the weary emigrants, 

As, pausing on the hill, 
They watched the scene that lay below. 

So peaceable and still. 
And they wondered if the kindred, left 

So many months before, 
Still cherished them within their hearts 

As warmly as of yore. 

A glad voice swelled along the hill, 

Ending all tliought of pain. 
As loved ones hurried forth to greet 

The wanderers again. 
And soon warm hands were clasping hands, 

And hearts ran o'er with joy. 
And eyes that lacked an object long, 

At length found full employ. 

But when they asked for Emily, 

Each kindred eye grew dim ; 
And every heart drooped mournfully. 

While filling to the brim ; 
And suddenly, amidst the group, 

A spell was thrown around. 
As if the lips had given voice 

To some forbidden sound. 



THE EMIGRANTS' RETURN. 249 

" We come, but bring not Emily," 

At length a mourner said ; 
" Within the far-off wilderness, 
Her silent form is laid. 
And the dirge that swelled above her grave, 

In the hour of our distress, 
Still fills the forest with its tone 
Of mournful tenderness. 

"Yon sweet-brier flings its fragrant breath 

Around upon the air ; 
To us it brings the thought of death, 

For once her form was there. 
And the Ioav sweet music of her voice, 

So gentle, her own 
Possessing, e'en from infancy, 

A melancholy tone ! 

" One eye, you may remember well. 

The last we ever spent 
At this old homestead, ere to seek 

Another home we went; 
When hearts were full, and eyes were dim. 

And tears were on the cheek ; 
And we felt the utter agony 

We would, but could not, speak. 

" She was the calmest one of all, 
And yet the saddest too ; 
For her cheek was pale, though not a tear 
Was in her eye of blue. 
11* 



250 THE EMIGRANTS' EETURN. 

And the sweet expression of her face, 

So sad, yet so resigned, — 
It seemed, though she indeed went forth, 

Her spirit stayed behind. 

" On to the far-off wilderness 

We journeyed day by day, 
Yet her voice grew sadder as we went, 

And her step less light and gay. 
In vain the prairie-flower wooed 

Her steps to turn aside ; 
The waters rolled, she heeded not 

The mutterings of their pride. 

" At length we rested by the dark 

' Interminable wood,' 
That, like a ready armed host, 

In serried columns stood. 
And we hoped that rest and tenderness 

Would free her from her pain, 
And from its mournful memories win 

Her spirit back again. 

" But her cheek grew whiter day by day. 

More shadowy her form, 
As the doomed lily pines away 

When summer-skies are warm. 
And still, as paler grew her cheek. 

More brightly shone her eye, 
Until the sharp conviction came, 

That she would shortlv die ! 



THE EMIGRANTS' RETVMN. 251 

Beside the murmuring forest-stream 

We laid her down to rest, 
And we placed the mould above her there, 

And the turf upon her breast. 
And we hunted through the shadowy depths 

Of the wide, dark wilderness; 
In search of pale blue violets, 

Our lost one's sleep to bless. 

" Of these we wrote her epitaph, 

And watered them with tears ; 
For we buried in that lonely grave 

The hoarded love of years. 
It was meet that we should greatly grieye 

When she, our gentlest one, 
Lay in that tranquil wilderness. 

To sleep so long alone. 

^' We come, but bring not Emily ! '' 

She paused awhile, and said, 
" Beneath the lofty forest-trees, 
Her wasted form we laid. 
And daily, since we said farewell, 

Our grief has sorer grown ; 
It seemed less hard to see her die, 
Than to leave her there alone.'' 



THE CEOSS-EOAD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 

Oh, say! does it stand where it stood of yore, 
That old log house with the open door ? 
But it was not old when first to school 
I Avent, half fearful of rod and rule ; 
A little girl with a downcast eye, 
And a cheek that blushed, it knew not why, 
And a laugh that was sometimes heard to ring, 
And a heart that trembled at eyerything. 

It was not old, as I said before, 
That cross-road school-house with open door ; 
Its walls were oaken, and rude, and bare. 
Though the chinks were lilled and daubed with 

care. 
It may have been with as proud a clay, 
As the great Macedonian's in his day, 
Some Indian king's, who had trod before 
The very ground that we sported o'er. 

Oh, thus it is ever! Our footsteps fall 
On the nameless, in the ancient hall. 
Nor think we of those who sleep beneath. 
With brows once crowned with the laurel-wreath. 



THE CROSS-ROAD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 953 

So shall we pass from the earth away, 
Nor leave one vestige of our decay, 
And the laagh and jest will still go round 
On the places we deem most holy ground. 

A draught from Memory ! Once again 

I would call from the past her buried train, 

Her train of liopes, and joys, and fears, 

Of little triumphs, and even tears. 

I will gaze once more upon distant skies, 

I will look once more into absent eyes, 

I will hear the stream as it rushes on. 

And sjoeak with tliose wlio are dead and gone ! 

Tliere, where the pine-trees reared on high 
Their bristling heads toward the changing sky, 
Where the glorious sunshine never crept, 
A place where Timon might have wept, 
I have passed, with swift and stealthy tread. 
With indrawn breath and heart of dread ; 
For Fancy conjured images there. 
Of ghost and goblin, or hideous bear. 

! when I think of the terrors wild 
That shook my heart when a little child, 
As I passed on that fearful road to school. 
That I might not live to be a fool, 

1 feel like crying, with one of old. 
Whose heart has long in death been cold. 

But whose fame still makes the wide world rinof, 
'• A little learning's a dangerous thing." 



254 THE CROSS-ROAD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 

A dear-bought lesson it was to me, 
From A, B, C, to the Rule of Three, 
"When seated upright, from morn till noon, 
(The noontide hour never came too soon,) 
On benches that stretched across the floor, 
From the opposite wall to the open door, 
I strove right hard to learn by rote 
The lessons I cared for not a groat. 

I loved them not, but I could not bear 
That others the victor-wreath should wear; 
It was something, too, to triumph o'er 
Those taller than I by a head or more. 
For this alone I would bravely look 
By the hour o'er Webster's Spelling Book, 
And think my triumph was easily won, 
If I could at last but be number " one." 

I remember once I had kept my place, 
Against all who strove to win the race 
And the meed of praise gain, me instead. 
For full a week at my class's head ; 
Ah ! never an ancient conqueror felt 
Like me, as each little word was spelt, 
And I read in each schoolmate's hopeless eye, 
That my hour of triumph Avas drawing nigh. 

But the last word came — that dreadful word! 
And my soul in its little depths was stirred; 
I spelt — e'en now my spirit bends — 
And " Oh I what a fall was there," mv friends 



THE CROSS-ROAD SCHOOL-HOUSE. 255 

Not the " noblest Eomati of them all " 
Felt, as I felt mine, his last great fall. 
I did not dream of death, *tis true, 
But I wept — it was all that I could do. 

I still remember our teacher, too, 

Dressed in his morning-gown of blue ; 

A strange, eccentric genius he, 

But as kind, at times, as kind could be. 

I will not dwell on his virtues here ; 

I have elsewhere dropped on his dust a tear ; 

And his faults have been hidden long from view, 

In the grave we all are hastening too. 

There resounds sweet music from the shore. 

Even when the land is in sight no more ; 

So cometh the memory of fond looks, 

Of loving tones and of murmuring brooks ; 

They break on my soul like a gush, of song. 

And hurry me on in their track along, 

Till I stand, in untamed glee, once more 

On the sill of that cross-road school-house door. 




THE STEPMOTHER. 

Well may thy brow be overcast, 

With tears thine eye grow dim, 
Tears that, with thought of all the past, 

Thy heart fill to the brim. 
The cares of earth have just begun 

To gather round thy heart, 
And hopes whose goal seemed almost won, 

Have plumed them to depart. 

No more ! thy ear shall drink no more 

A language passion-fraught ; 
Thy heart hath left the fairy shore 

Of free, untranimeled thought. 
Thou hear'st no more the pleasant streams 

That made thy childhood glad ; 
Thy heart hath fallen on graver themes, 

And therefore art thou sad. 

Thou art thinking of the time when thou, 

In all thy beauty's pride, 
First graced the halls thou claimest now, 

A young and joyous bride. 



THE STEPMOTHER. 257 

'Tis but a little while — and yet, 

How like an age it seems ! 
For many a sun hath risen and set 

"Within thy world of dreams. ^ 

There dwelt admiring glances near, 

And words of praise there fell ; 
And strains of music on thine ear 

Stole with a joyous swell. 
But the sound of voices, low and sweet, 

Broke on thy heart instead, 
And the tripping forth of little feet 

Mixed with the dancers' tread. 

Thou sawest those earnest eyes again, 

Eaised tearfully to thine. 
As if their little hearts would fain 

Around thine own entwine. 
And in that glance was read, indeed, 

In language deep and strong, 
Of childish hearts that felt the need 

Of sympathy too long. 

And then a shadowy form arose 

Before thy thoughtful eye, 
And thy very life within seemed froze, 

For the dead was drawing nigh. 
And with a solemn, noiseless tread. 

She glided by thy side. 
Till every wish seemed with the dead. 

And near to heaven allied. 



258 THE STEPMOTHER. 

And still slie stands beside thee, when 

The shadowy eve has come, 
And earnestly she pleadeth then 

For her once happy home. 
That thou wilt cheer those orphan hearts, 

And teach the way to lieayen. 
So that, when earthly hope departs, 

Some heavenly strength be given. 

! many a weary sun will rise, 

And weary snn will set. 
Ere thou canst knit the broken ties 

That once in gladness met. 
And jealous hearts, perchance, will deem 

Thy path too bright with flowers. 
And strive to intercept the beam 

That gilds thy happier hours. 

But still despair not ! with the morn 

The darkness disappears ; 
And hope of stem affliction born, 

A glorious halo wears ; 
Lift up thy prayerful heart on high, 

And all the ills, that seem 
To press thee to the earth, will fly 

Even as a noonday dream. 



"SELMA." 

I WILL stand once more beside thee, 

I will visit thee in dreams, 
I will hear the music of thy voice, 

In never failing streams ; 
I will search for sby forget-me-nots, 

Through marshes wet and low. 
And climb the rocky cliffs to Avhere 

The wild blue violets grow. 

I will challenge distant echo, 

Till my voice hath lost its sound. 
And the Ariel-foe is silent too, 

In all the rocks around. 
I will bathe once more my fevered brow 

In thy transparent waves ; 
I Avill smile with thee on living ones, 

And weep beside thy graves. 

Alas ! for old affection ! 

Shall I call for it in vain. 
Will it send no echo to my soul, 

No answer back again ? 



260 " SELMAr 

Are the ghosts of joyous memories 

All that is left to me, 
To cheer me, when the weary heart 

Hath almost ceased to he ? 

In my lonely vigil hours, 

I have thought of thee, until 
I heard the rushing of thy streams 

Through all my hosom thrill. 
And my spirit seemed a thing of air, 

Borne from tlie earth away, 
While the sound of pinions sweeping by, 

Broke on the ear of day. 

Give me some kindly message, 

From the worsliiped ones of old ; 
I cannot think that every heart 

Is cold, is deathly cold ! 
Enough tiiere are Avithin the grave, 

Enough in distant climes, 
To bring a chill upon a heart 

That dreams of olden times. 

I have gazed upon thy heaven. 

And, perchance, have shed a tear, 
Seeing with grief some exiled star 

Descend and disappear. 
Was it a fallen child of light. 

Flung from the heaven above — 
From everlasting happiness, 

From everlasting love? 



'' SELMA.'' 261 

I have gazed upon thy inouii tains, 

And the fresh green earth below ; 
I have pressed thy roses to my lips, 

And twined them round my brow; 
I have seen that earth below so fair, 

The heaven so bright above, 
Tl)at the world seemed full of poetry, 

As my heart was full of love. 

They are passed ; those happy moments ! — • 

They are passed, to come no more ; 
And like a weary mariner, 

I stand upon the shore, 
And think upon that distant land. 

Where waiting hearts there be ; 
Or, with a shudder, deem perchance 

No eyes watch there for me ! 

I would have some simple token. 

Some old familiar strain ; 
, I would have some softly-murmuring voice 

Breathe " Mary " once again ! 
Then, methinks, my soul within me, 

Would rejoice in tears once more, 
And I would mingle with thine own 

My voice forevermore. 

And ! when earthly sorrow. 

And when earthly joy is past. 
Within some dear familiar shade, 

I'd lav me down at hist. 



262 



SELMA. 



I would not fill a stranger's grave^ 
When being's task is o'er, 

But pillow on thy breast my head, 
Forever, evermore ! 



THE EXILE'S SIGH. 

He knew, ere the sun should sink in the west, 
His spirit would pass to its final rest ; 
Yet no shudder passed o'er the exile's frame, 
No words of complaint from his pale lips came. 
But a low and a deep-drawn sigh was heard, 
Like the last sad note of a dying bird. 
Or like the voice of the sighing breeze. 
In moaning accents among the trees. 

What meant that sigh, that sorrowing sigh, 

That breath of a broken melody ? 

Was it a fear of the rayless gloom 

And clay-cold walls of the Yoiceless tomb ; 

Of the still and shadowy land of death. 

The snow-white mantle, and cypress wreath ? — 

Ko token of these that deathbed gave, 

Eor the brow was calm, and the spirit brave. 

Did it breathe farewell to the setting sun, 
That sigh of the weary-hearted one ? 
A last farewell to the pleasant earth. 
Its beautiful flowers and ceaseless mirth ; 



264 THE EXILE'S SIGH. 

To the hue of the dark green forest-leaf, 
The smile of joy and the tear of grief ? 
Or a wish for oblivion's quiet wave, 
And a peaceful slumber within the grave ? 

Or did it speak of a lofty name, 
Thus dying without its meed of fame ? 
An eagle soaring towards the sun, 
But drooping before his flight was done ? 
Did thoughts like these rise with that breath, 
To vanish before the conqueror, death ?^ 
Ah, no ! a regret more pure and high 
Found a voice in the dying exile's sigh. 

It spoke of a pleasant distant land, 

Of the kindred heart and the clasping hand ; 

Of the leaf and flower by the zephyr stirred, 

And the wind-wild notes of the forest-bird ; 

Of a lovely cottage beneath the hill. 

And the mirthful sound of the mountain-rill ; 

Of childhood's laughter low and sweet. 

And the humming music of merry feet. 

Perchance there came with that last deep tone, 

The mournful thoughts of a spirit lone ; 

And we might have seen, had the heart been read, 

The whispered prayer for the lowly dead; 

Of an honored father's distant grave. 

And the soldier-death of a brother brave; 

Of a gentle sister's tearful smile. 

The living flower of a much-loved isle! 



THE EXILE'S SIGH. 265 

And it spoke of a mother's tireless love, 

Of her daily prayers to the throne above ; — 

Oh, sweet is a mother's murmured tone 

Of whispered love for a distant one ! 

It spoke of that voic^e of melody, 

Of the soft fond glance of the loving eye, 

Of the quiet smile and affection's tear 

To the exile's heart in death more dear. 

Alas, sweet mother ! your hopes were briglit, 
But a shadow is crossing their path of light ! 
Alas for the gentle sister's smile ! 
Hope will no more with fair visions beguile ; 
But sorrow its gloom on their pathway spread, 
Sighs for the living, and tears for the dead. 
Alas ! for the home and the happy hearth, 
For sadness is resting where once was mirth ! 

A change comes over the exile's brow, 
For death is claiming his victim now ; 
No more will sorrow her gloom impart, 
To make a tomb of the living heart. 
The whispered tone of that voice is still, 
The bosom has felt its last deep thrill. 
And cold and hard is the death-closed eye. 
Once mild as the depths of a summer sky. 

When the sun went down in the tranquil west, 
His spirit had passed to its final rest ; 
Yet a tear will moisten reflection's eye, 
As memory turns to the exile's sigh ; 
12 



266 



THE EXILE'S SIGH. 



And drop, as she thinks of the kindred band. 
And mourning hearts of a distant land; 
Of the S2:)irits pluming beyond the wave, 
To hover above the exile's grave ! 



m HEAVEN TO-NIGHT. 

The earth to-night is bright with flowers, 

Unnumbered stars are in the sky ; 
Oh, lovely are these midnight hours, 

When heaven so lovely looks on high ; 
"When every little star that glows, 

We deem a spirit's blest abode ; 
And hear from every flower that blows, 

A voice that calls us nearer God; 
When, floating on the balmy air, 

Come unseen ministers of light ; — 
I wonder why they hover there, 
And what they do in heaven to-night ! 



Come those pure spirits from above. 

To nerve our almost fainting hearts ? 
Whispering divinest words of love, 

That strengthen as each hope departs ? 
Come they to warn us of the ills 

We, weaklings, cannot comprehend ; 
The fate that hovers near, and thrills 

Our being even to its end ? 



268 ^^ HEAVEN TO-NIOHT. 

Come they lo tell lis of the love 
For us in Heaven's halls of light ? 

I would we all could meet above — 
I would I were in heaven to-night ! 

For one is there, whose mild blue eye 

My heart hath vainly yearned to see ; 
A dweller in that blessed sky, 

Unknown to all but heaven and me ; 
For when the dark death-angel came, 

He placed within my heart a sign 
That, though he left me but a name. 

The soul should mingle yet with mine. 
And, by the promise given, I feel, 

When flowers are wet and stars are bright, 
As on the fragrant earth I kneel. 

Thou surely art in heaven to-night. 

I've heard it said, that in the still, 

Hushed hour, when none but poets dream. 
When all is slumberins: but the will. 

All silent save the forest-stream ; 
Then they, the dead, will from the fold 

Of heaven's own gate in silence glide, 
To those they love, and take their old 

Accustomed places by their side. 
If this bo true, why should a tear 

Dim now that exquisite delight 
That thrills in thinking" thou art here, 

Close nestling by my side to-night ? 



ly HEAVEN TO-NIGHT. 269 

Listen ! for I will question thee, 

Wanderer, who hast from heaven come ; 
And I wonld have thee answer me, 

Of all the hours now dead and dumb ; — 
Where dwell those birds of paradise, 

That soared away on radiant wing, 
Ere we could number half their dyes, 

Or learn the song they loved to sing ? 
There dwelt a spirit in those hours. 

That could not lose its precious light ; — 
Do they, like earth's transplanted flowers, 

Abide above in heaven to-night? 

And tell me if, amidst the throng 

That round the Father's presence kneel, 
And elevate their souls in song, 

As heaven's diviner love they feel, — 
If there is one, whose life below 

Was little else than wasted hours ; 
Whose bounds were rifled long ago, 

Of healthful fraits and passion-flowers. 
Say, if in yon fair world his soul 

Hath yet recovered from its blight ; 
And far beyond earth's dark control. 

Exists above in heaven to-night ? 

And tell me if thou pleadest for me, 
That all my sins may be forgiven, 

And I, at last, may float with thee. 
Amidst the azure depths of heaven? 



270 m HEAVEN TO-NIGHT. 

I know, if those expressive eyes 

Tiieii* old imploring smiles retain, 
My prayers will not nnanswered rise, 

Nor thy sw^eet pleadings be in vain. 
Oh^ dearly loved ! if thon art here. 

Teach me to study life aright ; 
Oh, early lost ! if thou art near^ 

Gro ! plead for me in heaven to-night ! 

How long shall earth my spirit claim, 

How long until I mn the race, 
How long till I can name thy name, 

And greet thee gladly face to fajce ? 
I would not that the world should steal 

From heaven and thee one single thought 
And yet, I almost dread to feel 

That thou wilt sometime be forgot. 
Must many slow years by me creej). 

Ere I shall heavenward take my flight? 
Or shall I, falling soon asleep. 

Wake up with thee in heaven to-night ? 

I feel a soft hand gently laid 

With warning pressure on my heart, 
Saying, all further question stayed, 

My soul must act its destined part, 
Must, calmly waiting, count the hours. 

Bright heralds of eternal day ; 
And, gazing on the stars and flowers, 

Strive to be innocent as they. 



m UEA VEX TO-NIGHT. 



271 



Yet be not from my side away, 
In the lone watches of the night ; 

But come^ and teach me how to pray, 
As thou dost pray in heaven to-night ! 



THE POETESS. 

Behold her now amid tlie crowd 

That cling round pleasure's idol shrine ; 
Think you that heart hath ever bowed? 

Think you that spirit could repine ? 
Careless amidst a careless crowd 

While all the glittering, gaudy throng, 
Utter their eager praise aloud, 

And crown her queen of lyric song. 

Yet think not that her heart is cold, 

And to the worldly ones allied ; 
Eor she is of anotlier monld. 

The child of j)assion and of pride. 
Seest thou the flush upon her cheek, 

The burning fever in her eye ? 
They're beautiful, but ! they speak 

A soul that struggles towards the sky. 

One that would fly, and not return, 

On eagle's pinions far away ; 
One that w^ould fain escape the stern, 

Heart-breaking scenes of every day ; 



THE POETESS. 273 

Whose thoughts would seek some brighter 

theme 
. Than such as to the crowd belong; 
Whose heart would sleep, and sweetly dream, 
Eeposing on the breast of song. 

The cold un sympathizing world 

Has brought the soaring wing to earth, 
To droop in gloom, or else, unfurled, 

To seek the heartless stream of mirth. 
Like him who hid within the rays 

That lit the Adriatic's tide. 
Her heart retires amidst the blaze 

That lights the halls of mirth and pride. 

In vain I for feelings deep and strong 

Will burst the fetters of despair. 
Bathe in tlie atmosphere of song, 

And grasp a fearful glory there ! 
And those fair thoughts that ever lie 

Like nuns within the cloistered heart. 
Will sing their song and breathe their sigh, 

And sadly struggle to depart. 



Alas ! how vain — ^how deeply vain ! 

Fair beings of the convent's cell, 
Bound in the gloom, there to remain 

Till earth has said her last farewell. 
12* 



274 ^^^ POETESS. 

Yet though unseen, a voice is heard, 
Trembling with saddened sympathy, 

Like vesper-hymn of some sweet bird, 
Mourning its long captivity. 

So, from thy heart, young child of song. 

Thy feelings speak a truer tale 
Than thou wouldst have to them belong; 

For still each echo is a wail. 
Though soon by other ears forgot, 

Making no impress on the mind ; 
Unseen, unknown, unheard, un thought, 

They leave a world of griefs behind. 

A longing for a thing unknown, 

A something that we cannot name ; 
Alone, yet not enough alone, 

An ice-like feeling and a flame; 
A pause so breathless, deep, intense 

That hope dares not to break the spell ; 
A murmur ever calling hence, 

A hollow sound, a mute farewell. 

These are the mourners of the heart. 

The dwellers on a deep, dead sea ; 
They look for those they saw depart. 

They wish for that which may not be — 
To see the dead return again, 

With the glad promises they gave, 
In whispers to the heart, in vain. 

At once their dupe — at once their grave I 



THE POETESS. 275 

They whispered — and their thrilling tones 

Awoke a thousand echoes there, 
And painted fancy's loveliest ones, 

Of calm, of beautiful, of fair. 
They whispered, and tlieir tones were heard, 

Like fragrant breath of summer-flowers, 
Prom their deep sleep of silence stirred 

By evening's sighs and golden showers. 

But those sighs fainted like the sound 

Of bright waves murmuring on the shore. 
And those fair showers were shed around. 

To gleam a moment and no more ; 
Like memories of bright forms that by 

Us stand, from which we grieved to part, 
Dim shadows stand before the eye. 

Sad voices linger in the heart. 

Child of the past ! a fearful chain 

Is round thy heart, that will not break; 
Though like a bird it strive in vain 

Its gloomy prison to forsake. 
The past ! thy dwelling is the past, 

Its spell around thy heart is thrown, 
Its chain is round thy being cast ; 

In vain thou strugglest thus alone ! 

Heir of deep feelings and lone tears ! 

A fearful heritage is thine; 
The buried fires of long, long years 

Are burning in thy bosom's shrine ; 



276 



THE POETESS. 



And they will burn while one bright thought 
Eemains to feed the iindjdng flame, 

Till life, hope, thought, remaineth not ; 
All, all consumed — all but a name I 



THE WAKEIORS OF THE SKY. 

The sentinels were posted round the host by brave 

Cornwallis led, 
And the royal army slumbered, like an army of the 

dead: 
Dimly the camp-fires lighted up the darkness of the 

night. 
And on surrounding objects cast a melancholy 

light: 
Deep silence brooded over all, and slumber held 

her sway ; 
Save where some wakeful soldiers sat, and watched 

the night away; 
Beholding slowly, one by one, the glimmering 

lights expire, 
As they listened to a comrade's tale, beside their 

bivouac fire. 



"An hour ago," he said, '' on guard I by the river 

stood. 
Where the settler's axe to the steep bank's edge has 

cleared away the wood. 



278 THE WARRIORS OF TEE SKY. 

No stars shone on the water, and no wind its bosom 
stirred, 

To the eve it moved not, but the ear its deep strong 
current heard. 

My walk was up and down the stream, and as I 
paced along, 

I hummed unconsciously the notes of a half-for- 
gotten song 

That mother sung, till it took me back to the old 
land far away, 

To the hills and dales of Lincolnshire, in spring so 
bright and gay. 

" Once more I floated on the creek that flowed by 

my first home, 
And heard again the tales of wars that tempted me 

to roam : 
Heard the low voice, that prayed for me, so 

many a silent night, 
When slumber wrapt me in its folds, breathe yet 

the kind good-night. 
Heard the gay huntsman's horn, the cry the hounds 

responding gave ; 
Like an infant in its cradle rocked the star upon 

the wave ; 
But happier, freer than them all, while the seasons 

danced along. 
Was the boy that roamed among the hills, and 

dreamed of war and song. 



THE WARRIORS OF THE SKY. 279 

" Anon the drum and trumpet called ; and I, to 

serve inclined, 
To the old home said a brief farewell, and left its 

scenes behind ; 
I saw the snowy sails expand, the good ship on- 
ward fly, 
And England's white cliffs soon were lost unto my 

aching eye ; 
And then I longed to reach the land that held the 

distant foe. 
To see our conquering banners float, our burnished 

sabers glow. 
How many a day came back to me, in that short 

waking dream, 
While I paced guard back and forth, above 

Catawba's darkened stream ! 



"A light fell near me on the stream, a kind of 
lurid light, 

That lessened, like the cloud-veiled moon, the dark- 
ness of the night. 

Dim and uncertain first it seemed, then steadier 
grew the glare. 

Deepening and widening o'er the earth, the water 
and the air. 

1 looked around me and above ; the southern sky 
was red, 

And silence was on all around, like the silence of" 
the dead ; 



280 THE WARRIORS OF THE SKY. 

North, east, and west, there was no star to light the 

midnight scene, 
And I turned in wonder to the south, to watch its 

changeful mien. 

"Then dim and indistinct appeared a shadowy 
host of men, 

And the sky was like a battle-field spread out be- 
fore me then : 

I saw the ranks of infantry march stately into 
line, 

And bayonet and barrel in the light unnatural 
shine ; 

I saw the squadrons, man and horse, defined 
against the sky ; 

I saw the phantom banners float in crimson folds 
on high, 

Then fainter grew the weird array until 'twas al- 
most gone, 

As to the westward all the host seemed to move 
slowly on. 

''And then the heavy cannon in the distance 

loudly roared, 
And sharp and quick the musketry's incessant 

volleys poured ; 
And soon again the troops appeared — shapes of 

retreating men. 
Scattered in terror and dismay, broke on my vision 

then. 



THE WARRIORS OF THE SKY. 281 

I saw the wounded soldier fall, the disarray the 

flight, 
And heard the sharp, fierce call on men to turn 

and form in fight ; 
And still that' sullen roar was heard, until the sight 

was gone, 
And westward still, and westward, the sound 

seemed rolling on. 

"And while upon that wild, strange sight I gazed 
in donbt and fear, 

I saw the scarlet uniform displayed, distinct and 
clear, 

And 'midst the scattered legions there, that fled be- 
fore the foe, 

I saw old England's banner droop all mournfully 
and low ; 

And now, with eager headlong speed and banners 
flying free. 

The Continental troops pursued, all flashed with 
yictory. 

So rapidly the scene moved on, the scene of 
phantom war. 

And sullenly the sound rolled by and died in dis- 
tance far. 

" Oh, comrades ! I have gazed on death, have slept 

beside the slain — 
Have seen my gallant messmates fall on many a 

bloody plain — 



282 THE WARRIORS OF THE SKY. 

Have lost myself amidst the smoke that wrapt the 
lurid field, 

And witnessed scenes of danger that might make 
the bravest yield ; 

Yet never felt I fear till then, when, on the field 
of heaven, 

I saw the victory to onr foes by God's own man- 
date given ; 

Saw pictured there the end of all, our shattered 
columns fly, 

Like leaves before the gale, before the warriors of 
the sky." 



He said ; none ansAvered, but the eyes of all turned 

towards the west ; 
No phantom warriors there appeared to scare them 

from their rest ; 
The darkness like a night-bird sat on all things far 

and near, 
Than the river's solemn anthem, they no other 

sound could hear; 
Yet ominous appeared the gloom, and menacing 

that sound. 
To the ears of those who, silent there, the waning 

fire around. 
Dejected and dispirited, longed for the day to 

break, 
And the world of life, now dead and dumb, at 

drum-beat to awake. 



SIXTY. 

I ASKED him of his age : " Sixty," he said, 

And looked up startled. On his furrowed brow 
Were written many a tale of years long fled, 
- Whose memories he seemed to live in now. 
And therefore did the present seem as nought 
To his existence, or a troubled thought, 
Scarce glancing on the surface of his mind, 
To leave no trace, no memory behind. 

And yet to those who knew him best, he only 

Seemed as a weed thrown on life's rapid stream ; 
Not pressed on by the crowd, nor yet too lonely, 

But floating onward in a fitful dream, 
Where all the better energies of life 
Are worn and wasted in imagined strife. 
Presenting, when the veil is torn away, 
A blank that tells of nothing, — or decay. 

We live in the past alone, with its dead days, 
And with God's gifts do nought. The past 
should be 

Not for our feet a snare in life's new ways. 
But guide and mentor in emergency. 



284 ^^^TY. 

Yet as we stumble on, we seem to think 
The cup of happiness from which Ave drink 
Was emptied yesterday, and never more 
To be refilled on life's receding shore. 

Or else, unto the fountain-head we turn, 

Where first that cup was filled, thinking that 
then 
'Twill be replenished, as we vainly yearn 

To taste of those sweet waters once again, 
Which, leaping upward with a jo3^fal sound, 
Utter their broken murmurs all around, 
Like echoes, which, wandering from some far shore. 
Linger a moment, to be heard no more. 

Was that old man listening to hear the sound 
From childhood's haunted shore, while years 
went by. 
With heavy tread, whispering the tale around 

Of all that died, and all that were to die ? 
Heard he mysterious music from afar. 
Some melody dropped from a fallen star. 
That thus his senses, by its siren song. 
Should in forgetfulness be steeped so long ? 

Man calls aloud, and echo answers him 

From distant cliff's, while tlie surrounding air 

Is voiceless and untroubled ; yet the hymn 
Those far hills chant to G-od, re-echoes there. 



SIXTY. 2S6 

So with the heart : call, and from out the deep 
They corae, those joyous memories, with a leap, 
Telling of years whose gladness lends a gleam 
Of sunshine even to age's sluggish stream. 



And therefore do we love them, and the shore 
Whence first we set forth on our pilgrimage. 
When we were hopeful, hoping evermore 

That each succeeding was the promised stage 
Which young ambition longed for ; when as yet 
Little we had to grieve for or regret; 
Ere hope died in us, and that happy shore 
Faded, and we its fragrance breathed no more. 



" Sixty," again the old man softly said, 
With faltering voice, as if that little word 

Contained somewliat to mourn for and to dread, — 
Something that from its aimless slumbers stirred 

His spirit into wakefulness : a light 

Seemed to break on him through a world of night. 

Yet brought no comfort to his troubled mind ; 

The moments lost how could he hope to find ? 

For he had let them pass unheeded by, 

As if unworthy of a better fate ; 
And close upon their steps, reluctantly, 

Age plodded after, sere and desolate. 



2S6 



SIXTY. 



Now all his thoughts unto the past he gave, 
While at his feet yawned the remorseless grave; 
And, at the last, he felt, with bitter pain, 
That, at three score and ten, he had lived in vain. 



YOUTH. 

Youth! glorious youth! how deeply blue the 
skies. 
How green the earth where'er thou art to thee! 
A halo round thy brow Time's hate defies, 

Ever a rainbow's promise cheers thy heart. 
Cool are thy streams — melodious are thy numbers; 
Thy smile speaks of the heart's undying truth ; 
Troops of bright angels guard thy nightly slum- 
bers, 
When weariness the drooping soul encumbers, — 
Oh, rare and radiant youth ! 



Give from thy bower some amaranthine blossom, 
Whose fadeless leaves will bloom around my 
brow, 

When dreary time hath stolen from my bosom 
All the glad hopes that sing within it now ; 

Give me an eye that sees a heart that heareth 
The generous language from the lips of truth ; 

One that no doubt dismays, that no harm feareth,. 

And even in storms a summer- garment weareth, — 
Oh, brave and trustful youth ! 



288 YOUTH. 

Thou speakesfc from the heart, blessed spirit ! 

Thou speakest from a warm, impulsive heart: 
No evil do thy flowery realms inherit, 

To sow doubts there, for beautiful thou art : 
Thy home is by blue streams that wander ever 

Through forest-depths that bound thy green 
domain, 
While the deep music of a far-off river 
Falls on the ear, whose distant echo never 

Will leave the heart again. 

Sweet is the song of birds within thy bowers ; 

G-eorgeous and rich the plumage of their wings ; 
Eare is tlie beauty of thy countless flowers. 

Whose sweet perfume unto the charmed air clings. 
Thy green leaves quiver when the breezes wander 

In graceful indolence from tree to tree, 
Whispering in language musical and tender. 
Of distant loiterings through scenes of splendor, 

To hearts that worship thee. 

Leave me some token, when thou hast departed, 

Leave me some trait that may resemble thee ! 
I would not careless be, nor worldly -hearted, 

But trusting as young childhood's purity. 
Leave me, generous spirit ! leave some token 

Upon my heart, of thy unchanging truth ; 
Leave me the memory of kind words spoken. 
Of faithful hearts, and promises unbroken, 

0, blessed, blessed youth I 



AGE. 

V 

I RECOLLECT of a ruin, old, forsaken, 

Where the wind whistles through the broken 
wall, 
"Whose rafters by the angry blast are shaken, 

AVhose columns totter, looking soon to fall. 
Its casements rattle in the breeze of even ; 

Its time-stained panes let in no cheering ray ; 
Upon its walls the blessed light of heaven 

Looks dim and melancholy all the day. 

Within its courts the poisonous night-shade 
springe th, 

And seems to look on all around in hate ; 
Upon its rude and mouldering turret singe th 

The gloomy night-bird to its trembling mate.. 
And on its bare, disfigured walls no mirror 

Eeflects the images of things long past ; 
Dismay, and Desolation, Doubt and Terror, 

Are its inhabitants, alone, at last. 

Along the garden- walks some little flower 
May bloom perchance, and all unnoticed die ; 

With glass in hand, upon the highest tower 
Sits old Experience, with his haggard eye : 



290 VIBQINIA. 

Its lasfc, lone sentinel, he flings defiance 
Into the teeth of foes, by night and day ; 

He scorns the offer of a friend's alliance, 
And, cased in doubt, keeps all the world at bay. 



VIRGmiA. 

Laitd of my heart ! above the hills 

My spirit often floats to thee, 
To hear once more thy sweet-toned rills. 

And echo their wild minstrelry : 
And like a little bird that leaves 

A cheerless sky for summer-climes, 
So turn I too from all that grieves. 

To bathe in light of other times. 

0, memory's chain hath many a link. 

To lead the thirsty heart again 
Back to the fount, where it may drink 

So much of joy, so much of pain ; 
Joy, to behold once more the spot 

Where mirthfulness and we were one ; 
Pain, that our after-life is fraught 

With gloomy cares that dim its sun. 

Oh! I would breathe, land of my heart. 
One song of humble praise to thee, 

For I am thine, and thou a part 
In spirit and in song of me : 



VIRGimA. 291 

My voice has blended with thy streams, 

And claims their immortality, 
My spirit, chained within thy beams, 

Still owns their bright captivity. 

0, for an angel's voice to-day. 

To sing, as I would sing, to thee; 
For mine is wedded to decay, 

The fate of our mortality ; 
And I would speak in one whose tones 

Would ring forever through thy hills, 
Proud as the shout round victor's thrones. 

Yet gentle as thy gentlest rills. 

Blessed, thrice blessed to my heart, 

The draught thy memory holds to me ; 
I would not from its influence part 

For all the world can give or see. 
What are her cold and cautious smiles, 

To the warm feelings of our youth ? 
Her practiced and deceitful wiles. 

To childhood's young and ardent truth ? 

The present hath a boundless scope. 

Yet all eludes our grasp, we see ; 
Before us is a world of hope. 

Behind a world of memory. 
Oft will uncertainties arise 

Darkening the paths we walk alone; 
Yet soft and radiant are the skies 

That circle Memory's flowery throne. 



292 



VIROINIA. 



Oh, linked forever, hand in hand, 

Like soft light to a pleasant spot. 
Art thou and Memory : where, dear land, 

Where can she be where thou art not ? 
Let me, then, dwell within her bowers, 

And dream o'er each old fairy tale. 
Though tears are sometimes on the flowers. 

And sighs will haunt the evening gales ! 



THY PORTEAIT. 

I GAZE upon it day by day, 

Until my eyes are filled with tears, 
To think that thou art far away, 

Afar from all that life endears ; 
I, whose sad thoughts so often stray 
To thee, the loved of other years. 



The beautiful is round me still. 
But it is beautiful no more ; 

The breeze floats gently o'er the hill, 
As if old feelings to restore ; 

I hear it, but it fails to fill 
My bosom with the thoughts of yore. 



The days that pass since thou hast gone, 

I count as nothing : unto me 
They seem but scentless flowers thrown 

Beneath my footsteps heedlessly ; 
'No voice with sad regretful tone, 

Laments that such their death should be. 



294 THY PORTRAIT. 

Where art thou ? do the soft skies beam 
With looks of love upon thee now ? 

Or where our starry banners stream 
In many a fold above thy brow, 

Where flashing from their scabbards gleam 
A thousand weapons, standest thou? 



I know thee, wheresoe'er thou art, 
By the calm brow and truthful eye, 

Which speak the purpose of thy heart 
To bear right on unshrinkingly, 

And nobly act thy destined part. 
Although the mandate be to die! 



Go onward, then ! 'twere wrong in me 
To wish to turn thy steps aside ; 

Too strong the love I bear to thee— 
Oh, is it all unmixed with pride, — 

To deem thy heart Avill ever be 
To other than brave deeds allied ? 



Onward ! although thy chosen place 
Should in the front of battle be ; 

Though death should stare thee in the face, 
Thou wilt lead on unfalteringly: 

Upon this tranquil brow I trace 
N"o shrinking of the soul in thee. 



THY PORTRAIT. 395 

The starry flag above thy head, 
The flashing sword in thy strong hand, 

The field of battle with its dead 
And many a decimated band, — 

Oh, in those hours of doubt and dread, 

G-od guard thee and thy natiye land ! 




THE CROSS AND CROW]^. 

Whate'er it be, that which thy hand 

Findeth to do, do thou! 
!N"o grain will grow upon the land 

That feels not first the plough. 
A duty left undone thy loss 

May be, the Master's frown : 
For they who will not bear the cross 

Can never wear the crown. 

Press bravely forward, then ! for He 
Will bear thee safely through, 

Who knelt in dark Gethsemane, 
And drank the cup for you. 

Faint not, whate'er thy earthly loss, 
Nor lay thy burden down ! 

For only they who bear the cross 
Shall ever wear the crown. 



TWILIGHT. 

It is the hour for memory : softly stealing 
Before our eyes come faded forms, once more ; 

The beautiful in thought and soul and feeling, 
Made lovelier in the li allowed light of yore, 



TWILIGHT. 297 

Come thronging round us, like a far-off glory, 
Seen in the distance dim of ancient story. 

Beckoning in silence with their phantom finger, 
They seem to us, — as reyerently we stand. 

Uncertain whether we should go or linger, 
Waiting the glories of the better land, — 

They seem to whisper of both joy and sorrow ; 

The griefs of yesterday, hopes of to-morrow. 

Each evil deed, each promise idly broken, 
Eankling like poisoned arrows in the heart ; 

The good deeds we have done, the kind words 
spoken, 
Balm-like are poured upon the wounded part ; 

And by the promise made of sins forgiven, 

We upward look, repentingly, to heaven. 

So let us live that, when the hopes have perished, 
Which made this earth a paradise of love, 

When hearts that loved us, and the forms we cher- 
ished, 
Have left us for a better home above, — 

So live, that, from this twilight hour of sorrow, 

We may awake unto a glorious morrow. 



BE STRONa. 

Go forth into the world ; go forth ! 

Thou art prepared to wm the race ; 
Among the great ones of the earth 

To take thy destined place ! 
Its ills may cluster round thy heart, 

Its shadows gather round thy brow ; 
Life's first fond hopes may all depart, 

Yet fear not ! fail not thou ! 

Be firm ! false words may charm thy ear, 

False smiles may hover on the lips, 
And treachery be lurking near. 

Plotting thy soul's eclipse ; 
Yet, fearless in thy sense of right. 

And resolute to do no wrong, 
Say, with the chieftain 'midst the fight, 

ITnto thy soul — ^' Be strong ! " 

Be true nnto thyself, nor cast 

The brightness of thy soul away, 
In striving after things that last 

But for a little day. 
Be heaven-born principles thy guide, 

Whate'er may be life's chequered plan; 
Amidst the storms or adverse tide, 

Fear God, but never man ! 



AMY DeVERE. 

**Hast thou a friend that thou loyest well, 

Amy, Amy DeVere ? 
Hast thou a friend that thou lovest well. 

And lovest the live-long year ?" 
" I have a friend, and I love her well. 
And her presence is over me like a spell, 
And her eyes are blue as the skies in June, 
And her voice is sweet as a bird^s in tune, 

And I love her all the year." 

" Her heart is false as her face is fair, 

Amy, Amy DeYere ! 
She will prove untrue to thee ; beware ! 

Ere the close of another year." 
" That she is false ihou shalt not tell, 
I have known her long and have known her well. 
And I live in unbroken trust that she 
Will be true to her G-od, and true to me ; 

So I love her without fear." 

The monitor spoke, but she heeded not, 

Amy, Amy DeVere ! 
And the warning words were soon forgot. 

For she did not care to hear. 



300 THE UNBIDDEN QUEST. 

But she woke one morn from a troubled dreahi, 
And her heart grew sad as a darkened stream ; 
For love was bartered and friendship sold, 
And all for a casket of yellow gold, 
That was not worth a tear. 



THE UNBIDDEN GUEST. 

With stealthy step, through the half-open door. 
With muffled face that hides a covert sneer, 

A shadow steals across my lonely floor ; 

0, thou unbidden guest I what dost thou here? 

Comest thou to tell me that the words I heard, 
An hour ago, in tones of pleasant mirth, 

Were but the dead leaves by the breezes stirred. 
Or like the embers scattered o'er my hearth ? 

Comest thou to tell me that the earnest tones 
Which poured sweet thoughts on my attentive ear 

While all God's hosts were bending from their 
thrones, 
And God's recording angel hovered near, 

Were but the idle uttei'ings of an hour, 
Vain promises that were not made to keep, 

The evil workings of some wicked power, 
Busy while better spirits were asleep ? 



THE UNBIDDEN GUEST. 301 

Comesfc thou to tell me of the soul's eclipse, 
Where truth and honor seemed the life within, 

Sparkling in gem-like glory from the lips ? — 
That they were only fraud, deceit, and sin ? 

Is then the casket, to such witcheries wed, 
That once all praise and admiration w^on, 

But the sarcophagus that contains the dead, 
The whited walls that hold a skeleton ? 

Is this thy message, thou unbidden guest ? 

0, dire Suspicion ! all thou knowest reveal ! 
Not only on my hearth thy foot is pressed, 

But on my heart its crushing weight I feel. 




LET BY-GONES BE BY-ao:N"ES. 

Old friend ! I have too much against thee, 

To wish for so poor a return ; 
Know you not, that on truth's holy altar 

No fire of false worship should burn ? 
When the wounding offense is repented, 

And the injury all done away, 
And the guilt of it nobly acknowledged. 

Then let " by-gones be by-gones ! '' I pray. 

But no voice of the past or the present. 

Though it point to tlie years that are gone, 
Though i-t point to the grave of the silent, 

And tlie roses we planted thereon ; 
Tliough it tell of the tears shed together. 

On a bosom now pulseless and cold. 
Can have power to drown the wrong-doing, 

And restore the dear feelings of old. 

I love too much not to forgive it. 

But tliough I weep over the sin, 
Though the " charmer charm never so wisely,' 

Let principle still reign within. 



LIFE'S BLESSmOS. 303 

When acknowledged is all the wrong-doing, 
When the wounded heart ceases to bleed, 

I will give my hand with my heart in it, 
And let " by-goues be by-gones " indeed. 



LIFE'S BLESSINGS. 

Though the world may quite forsake us, 

God hath left us blessings three ; 
Angel-spirits ever present, 

Faith, and Hope, and Charity. 
And like stars that shine in heaven. 

Through the darkest hour of night, 
So they shine within our bosoms, 

Turning darkness into light. 

Patiently, serenely smiling, 

Faith looks upwards to the sky. 
Leaning on the promise given. 

Of a better home on high. 
Through a world of sin and sorrow, 

Mindless of their stern behest, 
Still her gaze is fixed on heaven 

As her only place of rest. 

Ever radiant through life's journey, 
Hope, the bright one, leads us on, 

Eainbow-like amidst the tempest, 
When our strength is almost gone ; 



30-1 LIFE'S BLESSiyOS. 

Always her bright hand uplifted 
Point us to the world above, 

Where no troubles will assail us. 
Where a Father, " God is loye." 

By their side, benignant, holy, 

Standeth Charity the fair. 
Folding to her pitying bosom. 

Many a wayward child of care. 
Thus, amidst the cares and trials 

Met with as we sail life's sea, 
We're not utterly forsaken, 

God hath given us blessings three. 




MAEY. 

Darlin'G Jennie, sit 3^ou down ; 

Lay your books beside you ; 
If you play beside the spring, 

Evil may betide you. 
Listen now, and I will tell 

Of your little sister, 
Ere, by lier sweet beauty charmed. 

Death with white lips kissed her. 

Wavingly her tresses hung 

On her snowy shoulders. 
With a maze of golden curls. 

Gladdening all beholders ; 
And her hazel eyes looked up, 

With a sudden splendor, 
Flashing from the soul within, 

Eadiant yet tender. 

And we deemed that surely she 
Bright things would inherit. 

For within her bosom dwelt 
A most noble spirit. 



306 YOUR MART AND MINE. 

Gentle yet magnificent 

"Was its early promise, 
Till the angels from above 

Came and took her from us. 

Took her on their wings of love, 

To the holy mountain, 
To the tree of paradise, 

And its living fountain ; 
Whei'e, secure from every ill, 

Safe with him who gave her, 
Softly rests she in his arms 

Who here died to save her. 

Darling, there she ever lives. 

Glorious beyond measure ; 
If we are good and true, we soon there, 

Shall regain our treasure; 
Where we never more shall fear 

Any adversary; 
In our Father's halls of light. 

Find our much-loved Mary. 



YOUR MARY AND MINE. 

Two sweet hopes from our softened hearts. 

Two stars from out our sky, 
Two birds, whose was song sweeter than 

The throstle's in the rve ; 



TOUR MARY AND MINE. 307 

Two household words, whose echoes yet 

Are in my heart and thine ; 
Why have they passed so soon away ? — 

Your Mary and mine, 

"We know not ; but we know those hopes 

To better things are given, 
We know those stars shine brighter far 

Than in an earthly heaven ; 
Those tones are heard by angels' ears. 

Though lost to miiie and thine, 
Those household words are in our hearts, — 

Your Mary and mine. 

'Tis hard to think the loveliest 

Should be the soonest gone ; 
Be still, be still ! sad heart, and know 

That " God is God alone/' 
It is not faith, it is not love, 

Unwisely to repine ; 
Shall we not meet them yet above ? 

Your Mary and mine. 



WILLIE. 

His little tottering feet are still, 

His music-laugh is o'er, 
His form's not seen upon the sill — 

Dear Willie is no more. 
A moment stood he 'midst the harms 

That throng in earth's abode ; 
Then passed from his poor mother's arms. 

Into the arms of God. 

His cap has vanished from the wall, 

His playthings from the floor; 
But mournful memories they recall, 

Since Willie is no more. 
Yet, though the form is hidden now. 

Beneath the cold gray sod, 
Uplifted is that angel brow, 

To meet the smile of God. 

Then bow your chastened spirits down, 

And His great will adore ; 
Who bears the cross shall wear the crown, 

Thouo-h Willie is no more. 



WILLIE. 



309 



You will not see him here, where harms 

Make hapless our abode, 
But in the everlasting arms 

Of a redeemin'g God. 



THE EIVER ECHO. 

In" the heart of green Kentucky, 

With its woods and mountains blent, 
Lies a cave of wondrous beauty, 

Rare and most magnificent. 
In its chambers cold and lofty. 

Strange shapes of crystal rise, 
Gem-like in their icy splendor. 

Antique in their imageries. 

Through that cavern vast and wondrous 

Runs a river deep and broad. 
With its ever-swelling billows, 

Surging through the dim abode. 
Toward the world of light they struggle 

With a never-ending strife, 
Like a great soul in thick darkness, 

Searching for the way of life. 

And thoy call that river. Echo ; 

For a sound cast on its wave. 
Quickly caught, as by enchantment, 

Rebounds from cave to cave ; 



THE EIVER ECHO. 311 

Then returning with new vigor, 

Like a courser o'er the plain, 
To the place from which it started, 

Back it boundeth once again. 



Once I stood beside that river, 

With thy name upon my lips, 
Whose dear eyes in silent sorrow, 

Closed so soon in death's eclipse ; 
Then from cave to cave it echoed. 

With a sob, a sigh, a start. 
Till, returning with a murmur, 

Back it nestled in my heart. 



And it rests there, silent, sacred 

From the littleness of earth; 
A dear memory ever treasured 

For its nobleness and worth. 
And with hopeful patience ever 

I look upward by G-od's grace. 
Till near the crystal river 

I shall meet thee face to face. 



Not as there within that cavern, 
With its echoings profound. 

Shall I hear thy name repeated 
With a cold and mocking sound; 



312 BREAD CAST ON THE WATERS. 

But will see thee clothed in radiance, 
Such as only angels wear, 

With the new name God has given. 
Written on \hj forehead fair. 



BREAD CAST ON THE WATERS. 

A BEGGAK stood in the sunshine. 

That lighted ni}' cabin-door; 
I placed in his hands a pittance, 

'Twas small, but I had no more. 
Years after, when want was round me, 

And sorrow had pressed me sore. 
There came from a far-off country, 

A rich and bounteous store. 
Then I thought of God's blessed promise. 

As I looked on the golden grain ; 
For the bread I once cast on the waters 

Had returned to me again. 

I, stood in the silent midnight, 

Beside the couch of pain ; 
I calmed the troubled spirit, 

And I soothed the fevered brain. 
Years after, when grief and sickness 

A victim in me had found, 
Kind hearts bent over my pillow, 

And I kuew there wore angels around. 



BREAD CAST ON THE WATERS. 313 

Then I thought of God's holy promise, 

As I lay on that conch of pain. 
For the bread once cast on tlie waters 

Had returned to me again. 



A tried heart quailed in the battle 

That raged on the shore of life j 
I whispered a word of comfort, 

And cheered it amid the strife : 
Years after, when grieved and wounded 

By the follies and frauds of earth, 
True spirits gathered around me. 

Gladdening my heart and hearth ; 
And I thought of God's glorious promise, 

That it never is made in vain ; 
For the bread once cast on the waters 

He returns to us again. 




ON THE DEATH OF A FEIEND. 

" He giveth his beloved sleep," 

A calm, enduring, glorious rest, 
,Erom which they will not wake to weep, 

But be forever blest. 
For thee the victory is won, 

Death's shadowy valley safely passed, 
The golden gates been open thrown, 

And thou art safe at last. 

Safe, where no more earth's griefs and fears 

Shall haunt the ocean of thy peace, 
Where God himself shall dry thy tears, 

And bid thy sorrows cease. 
Through regions filled with snares and 
death — 

Through wanderings dark, and sad, and 
lone — 
To prove their love and try their faith, 

He ofttimes leads his own. 

And thou wast proved as few are proved, 
And thou wast tried as few are tried; 

Yet was thy true heart never moved, 
But only purified. 



FORGIVE. 315 

For thou didst bear thee nobly well. 
Under affliction's chastening rod ; 

And when life's arrows thickest fell, 
More humbly walked with God. 

Oh, friend beloyed ! the night is past. 

Gone with its terrors and alarms, 
And thou art sheltered, safe at last, 

Within the Saviour's arms. 
And through the pastures green, where runs 

Life's peaceful river calm and slow. 
He leads thee with his chosen ones, 

And will not let thee go. 

friend ! thy course is nobly run ; 

With thee life's toilsome day is past ; 
For thee the victory is won, 

And thou art crowned at last ; 
Saved with the dead in Christ, who leaned 

In faith upon the promised word. 
That they who love him here shall dwell 

Forever with the Lord. 



FORGIVE. 

If ever, in some brief moment. 
My lips have uttered an unkind word, 

That has from its tranquil slumbers 
Thy heart to unwonted anger stirred, 



316 FORGIVE. 

Forgive it! before the sunset 
Hath stolen in silence from the west ; 

Forget it! before the morning 
Hath gemmed with her pearls the green earth's 
breast. 

The rank weeds spring the thickest, 
Where'er is found the richest soil ; 

And where the bird sings sweetest 
May often be seen the serpent's coil ; 

Yet the hand of patient labor 
May remove the weeds from the earth away, 

And the hand that feeds the raven ■ 
May snatch from the venomed foe the prey. 

Then if my lips have uttered 
A word it hath ]}aiued thy soul to hear, 

Let it pass from thy heart forever ; 
Always wrong costs the doer dear. 

Forgive it, before the shadows 
Of death have closed o'er the final scene ; 

Forgive it, before the darkness 
Refuses to say we '' once have been." 



THE EING-DOVES. 

EiKG-DOVES, nestling side by side, 
In the pleasant eventide, 
Where the woodbines interlace 
Many a bough in their embrace ; 
Where the evening shadows fall 
With a tender grace o'er all ; 
Once, like you, I had a mate ; 
Once I was not desolate ! 

In her dark and changeful eyes, 
Looked a spirit from the skies, 
Radiating o'er her face 
With a soft expressive grace, 
Lighting every lineament 
With a beauty heaven-sent, 
Which although its sun has set, 
Brightens all my being yet. 

In the quiet eventide. 
Often sat we side by side. 
Singing many golden rhymes. 
Of the far-off olden times ; 



318 THE RING-DOVES. 

And, from happy musings caught, 
Uttering many a pleasant thought, 
That, with an enchanting power, 
Sweetens still the passing hour. 



Ah ! to us the earth was bright. 
With a golden flush of light ; 
And the skies were very fair, 
And the flowers exceeding rare. 
All the world was bright without, 
Scowled within no shade of doubt 
Heaven we saw with mortal eyes, 
Earth to us was paradise ! 



How I miss her when the light 
Brings no gladness to my sight; 
When the calm and stilly eve 
Sees me sit alone and grieve ! 
When the world, unkind in part, 
Cast its shadows on my heart ; 
Miss her in the midnight lone. 
With her dear arm round me thrown ! 



Eing-doves, nestling side by side. 
In the pleasant eventide, 
Yet a little time and ye 
Shall no longer slug to me ; 



THE BING-DOVES. 



319 



Yet a little while, and I 
Shall go angel-plumed on high ; 
There to meet my spirit's mate, 
And no more be desolate. 



KNUD IVERSON. 

Come, gather round me, children ! 

Put your playthings all away; 
I will tell you a thing that happened 

In our midst the other day. 
I know your hearts will tremble. 

And your cheeks turn very pale, 
And your eyes be wet with weeping, 

At the telling of my tale. 

'Tis of a young Norwegian, 

A gentle boy, who came 
And settled among us lately, 

Knud Iverson his name. 
From a far-off, frozen country, 

A country by the sea, 
He came like a young hero, 

To teach us to be free. 

One afternoon in August, 

When the blue sky looked, above, 
Full of pleasantness and beauty. 

Full of purity and love, — 



KNUD IVERSON. 321 

To the greeu and quiet pastures 

He was going blithe and gay, 
And came to a deep swift river. 

Where idle boys were at play. 



And they pointed to an orchard 

Where the golden fruit hung low, 
And urged him to go and rob it, 

But he refused to go ; 
For the fear of Gi-od within him, 

A fear they did not feel, 
Like a king enthroned in his bosom. 

Kept saying ^' Thou shalt not steal." 



Then they pointed to the orchard 

Where the golden fruit hung down. 
And they pointed to the water, 

And dragged him there to drown ; 
But the love of G-od within him. 

Something they did not feel. 
Overcame his dread of mortal, 

And he still refused to steal. 



They plunged him beneath the water, 
And held him there, until 

Drowning, he ceased to struggle, 
And his heart was cold and still. 
14* 



322 KNUD IVERSOK 

He had called for help to heaven, 
Trusting the Father's love ; 

But he sank m the hungry river, 
For no help came from above. 

I have read how the Eoman soldier, 

When the day was surely lost. 
Would die with the harness on him. 

But not desert his post ; 
I have read how tlie Christian martyr 

The burning furnace trod, 
And smiled at its fiery torture. 

But would not deny his God; 

Great was the Roman soldier, 

With his fearless self-control, 
And greater the Christian martyr, 

With his constancy of soul; 
No story of field or fagot, 

Where courage at sure death smiled. 
Has half such power to thrill me, 

As the tale of that martyr-child ! 



« SHE IS NOT DEAD : SHE SLEEPETH.' 

She is not dead : she only sleeps 

Upon the green earth's tranquil breast, 
While eve's first star serenely keeps 

Its quiet vigil o'er her rest. 
No sound disturbs her calm repose, 

Sorrow and pain molest her not; 
She sleeps, secure from earthly woes. 

While angels guard the sacred spot. 

Soon shall we see, even as we tread 

With solemn steps that calm retreat. 
The wild-rose bloom above her head, 

The grass grow greener at her feet. 
And soon, perchance, will hearts that mourn 

For her now low within the tomb, 
To other joys triumphant turn, 

With other hopes luxuriant bloom. 

And yet we may not soon forget ; 

The true of heart can never die : 
Our memory sanctifies them yet, 

The light of many a year gone by. 



324 MimSTERINO SPIRITS. 

A steadfast aiiclior to the soul, 
When faith is weak and hope is vain, 

As turns the needle to the pole, 
Our hearts return to them again. 

She sleeps, but she will wake again, 

Soon shall the darkness disappear ; 
God never does His work in vain, 

But brings it onward, year by year. 
She is not here, she lives above, 

And soon this consecrated clay 
Shall join its holier part above. 

When angels roll the stone away. 



MINISTERIN^G SPIRITS. 

In the calm and gentle hour, 

When the silent stars look out 
From their happy homes in heaven, 

On this world of care and doubt ; 
When the gemmed sky smiles above us, 

And the earth in shadow lies. 
Come they, who in life did love us. 

With their meek and starry eyes. 

And they hover round us nightly. 
Chasing each dark care away. 

Such as on our bosom's substance 
Creeps, with envious haste to prey ; 



MINISTERING SPIRITS. 

And their eyes have learned a language 
Which on earth they never knew ; 

Seeing heaven's greater glories, 

They have caught its sweetness too. 

Happy they who. in life's verdure, 

Hold communion with the dead, 
Listen to each spirit- warning, 

Ere the better part hath fled ; 
Who have felt God's message written 

On their bosom's inner page, 
Ere the gold of youth has rusted 

To the selfishness of age. 



325 




METHOUGHT I STOOD ALONE. 

Methought I stood alone upon Life's common, 
While all around a desert seemed to me, 

And not one star upon it shone, an omen 
Of Love and Hope, a beacon-light to be. 

Around, above me, whirled the scorching sand. 

But no one stretched to me a friendly hand. 



Methought I stood alone, and bitter feeling 
Buried the sunshine nesting in my heart. 

And hidden thoughts that knew of no revealing, 
In other's mirth that would not bear a part ; 

So cold, so lieartless, all appeared around. 

That even their laughter had a mocking sound. 



A mocking sound, a heartless, and a hollow, 
Mocking as Hope, and hollow as the lay 

She gayly sings, which we essay to follow. 
But feel it pass to nothingness away. 

To nothing, or, our last light taking from us, 

With " Hope to-morrow I " — what an empty 
promise! 



LOOK DO WN FB OM SEA YEN. 397 

Empty indeed ! the past is passed forever; 

I would not now its vanished hours recall, 
For I should feel and see, at each endeavor, 

The worthless vanity of each and all. 
Childhood its day-dreams has of after glory, 
Ne'er to be realized in Life's dull story. 

The past is passed, the present has no pleasure 

Or happiness, that I could revel in ; 
The future, it to me can bring no treasure, 

lN"o earthly treasure I would care to win. 
For this, I thank Thee, Father! who hast given 
Me confidence to look to Thee and heaven. 

Thine was the hand that was stretched forth to 
save me 
From sinking, when all other aid was past ; 
Thine was the promise of support, that gave me 
Strength to bear up against each threatening 
blast. 
Guide well my bark, as seemeth good to Thee, 
Until the appointed summons comes for me! 



LOOK DOWN FROM HEAVEN. 

Look down from heaven, Holy One ! 

Look down from heaven above. 
And change these many tides of life 

Into one stream of love I 



328 LOOK DOWN FROM HE A VEX. 

Let pure affection, gushing forth 

All perfect and all whole, 
Pour its refreshing waters out 

On every thirsty soul. 

Look down from heaven, glorious One I 

With thy benignant eye. 
And turn, with Thy Almighty power, 

Earth's Marah-fountains dry. 



A THANKSGIVmG. 



Father ! I said, when sickness and pale sorrow 

Had brought me to death's door, a guest for- 
lorn, 
When every hope seemed bounded by to-morrow, 

And life's fair fabric into fragments torn. 
If from the grave, I said, Thou wouldst restore me. 

Withdraw the shadow from my drooping eyes, 
And cast the banner of Thy dear love o'er me. 

My lyre's first accents unto Thee should rise. 



And I have sat beside the gushing fountain, 

And heard a language lips may never speak ; 
Have stood upon the green and sloping mountain. 

And felt heaven's breezes blowing on my cheek; 
Have watched the birds of passage gayly winging 

Their trackless paths across the summer main. 
And felt in God's dear light a new hope springing 

Within my heart, and bounding through each 
vein. 



330 ^ THANKSGIVING. 

Warm hands have clasped mine own, kind eyes 
have greeted 

The wandering exile to a home most dear, 
Fond words of welcome, oftentimes repeated, 

Have proven sweetest music to my ear; 
And, with a saddened lieart, yet nnrepining, 

I tread the paths I oft before have trod, 
Witih arm and thought and heart all intertwining 

With one noAV gathered to the fold of God ! 



And now I come with chastened heart, my Father, 

To praise Thy goodness and adore Thy grace, 
Who, when death's billows paused, new strength to 
gather, 

Led me to seek, with earnest heart, Thy face! 
Thou, Who didst teach me, travel-worn and weary 

To cast my burden of unrest on Thee ; 
And when the night was long, the prospect dreary, 

The comfort of Thy Presence gave to me! 



I thank Thee for the many blessings scattered 

Along my path, from childhood until now. 
And though full many an idol Thou hast shattered. 

And into dust and darkness laid them low, 
I know in love Thou didst it — that, returning 

From patlis forbidden and from ways unblest, 
The broken heart might come, repenting, yearning 

For peace and pardon on a Saviour's breast. 



A THANKSGIVING. 



331 



Still let me love Thee ! where Thy Glory dwelleth, 

And where Thy praise iis heard, there let me be ! 
When to the heavens the sacred anthem swelleth, 

0, lift my soul triumphantly fco Thee! 
Still let me trust Thee ! though the path before me 

Be full of vexing cares or wild alarms; 
Still let the mantle of Thy love be o'er me, 

Uphold me with Thine everlasting arms ! 



A MORNING WALK IN JUNE. 

I WILL walk far into the pleasant woods 
This balmy morning, and beneath the shade 

Of one old beech that, in these solitndes 
Without a compeer stands, where oft I've strayed 
And listened to the song the wild birds made ; 

There will I sit me down, where I can see 
The dew-drops glisten on the mossy glade, 

All undisturbed as yet, except by me, 

For I can trace my steps even to this green old 
tree. 



The sun hath not yet risen, yet the hum 
Of distant voices stirs the air around ; 

Already nearer, nearer doth it come ; 

ni rise, and wander where the busy sound 
Will not disturb mine ear; yon rising mound 

ril cross, and enter the opposing dell. 

Where many wild sweet-scented flowers are found, 

Decking the earth's dark bosom passing well ; 

But first I will remove this slow snail's curious 
shell 



AMORXIXG WALK IN JUXE. 33.3 

From oat my path; thou strange slow-moving 
thing, 

Securely hid from the devouring hawk, 
Who sails above on broad and venturous wing, 

Thou shalt be my companion in my walk, 

And I will hold with thee some curious talk 
About thyself, thy structure, coiled and small; 

Why thou art found alike on beetling rock. 
In the low vale, or by the waterfall, — 
Why thou wast made thus strange, why thou wast 
made at all. 



If for some great and unrepented sin, 

An angel were condemned in this low guise 

To wander through the world, an humbled thing, 
Creeping on earth, who mounted once the skies, 
Fluttering his wings in gales of paradise, — 

Methinks the punishment were surely great, 
Enough for any crime. Thy horned eyes 

Thou, melancholy thing I raisest elate, 

As if thou wast indeed once of a high estate. 



Even such is man ! — When at the lowest ebb 
Of fallen fortune, and a ruined name, 

Even when he's most entangled in the web 
Of dark dishonor, obloquy and shame, 



334 A MOMXING WALK IN JUyE. 

He'll still point men to the heights wherefrom 
he came, 
And idly boast of other days than these, 

As if his father's or his former fame, 
O'erwhelmed by later, blacker infamies. 
Could make him other than the guilty thing he is. 

Poor creeping thing! perhaps, if thou couldst 
speak, 

Thou wouldst tell many a tale of piteous woe; 
Perchance, in thy wild fancies, vainly seek 

For other than thou seemest, mean and low, 
Scarce animate with life; — say, is it so? 

And canst thou be contented thus to go, 
Crawling beneath the feet of one like me. 

Who, made of clay, doth still aspire to know 
The secrets of the -skies, and fain would be 
Admitted to the realms where shines the galaxy ? 

But if thou art contented, I'll not call 
Thee abject, nor insult thy lowly state ; 

Thou dost not mount the car of fame, to fall 
Therefrom, despised, degraded, desolate. 
The pride, the scorn, the mockery of fate, 

Like thy reviler, man ; who, did he see 
A God above, would strive to be His mate. 

Would match himself even with the Deity, 

With that Power uncreate. Who made both liini 
and tliee I 



A JIOHyiXQ WALK IN JUNE. 335 

How beautiful this morning is! how calm ! 

All nature smiles serenely, free from care ; 
The zephyrs dip their wings in wells of balm, 

And waft their fragrance through the ambient 
air. 

The earth how green, the heavens, 0, how fair! 
A glorious frame, around a gem made bright 

With His own smile Avhose eye is everywhere ; 
Open thy heart, man ! and let its light 
Pierce through the misty gloom that shrouds thy 
soul in night ! 




MAN LABORS FOR GLORY. 

Man labors for glory ! The poor and the rich , 

The proud and the humble in name, 
Reach their hands out to grasp the sharp sickle with 
which 

They would reap the rich harvest of fame. 
Alas! of the many, how many remaiu 

To toil on through sorrows and fears !• 
They sow their hearts deep with a rich golden 
grain, 

But reap disappointment and tears. 

Man labors for glory I The statesman bows low 

To the shrine that ambition hath raised, 
Till his heart is as hard as the cold, frozen snow, 

Or the idol on which he hath gazed. 
He sees, passing o'er him, the bright laurel crown 

That for years he hath struggled to clasp ; 
It Mis on a far humbler brow that his own, 

And forever escapes from his grasp. 

Man labors for glory ! The soldier with joy 
Hears the sound of the trumpet afar, 

And follows Fame's steps, as the glad sailor-boy 
Eyes the beams of the bright morning star. 



MAN LABORS FOR GLORY. 337 

And thougli he may flash like a meteor by, 

Unscathed 'mid a tempest of wrath, 
The red lightning gleams through the dark mid- 
night sky, 

And leaves not a trace of its path. 

Man labors for glory ! The student's pale light 

Burns feebly at midnight's lone hour ; 
Yet what does it matter ! is not his heart bright 

With a high intellectual power ? 
Rich treasures flow forth from the stores of his 
mind, 

And flash like the stars in the sky ; 
But, ah ! they are jewels that few care to find, 

Though thick in their pathway they lie. 

Man labors for glory, and labors in vain ! 

Yet toil on, young dreamer! for though 
Thy lofty aspirings may all end in pain, 

A splendor may still round thee glow ; 
The breath of rich incense that swells from thy 
cup 

May one weary spirit beguile 
From treasuring life's bitter memories up, 

Or teach to forget with a smile. 



LINES 

ADDRESSED TO AN OLD SOLDIER OF NAPOLEON, ON SEEING HIM 

WEEP WHILE LISTENING TO " BON^VPARTE'S 

MARCH OF RETREAT." 

J. C. D. 

What vision of the past is thine, 

In bleeding Memory's cup, 
That thus one simple strain should call 

Its bitterness all up. 
In form as palpable as light 

Upon the eastern sky. 
As well defined as penciled lines 
^ Unto the artist's eye ? 

Think'st thou of him, the idolized, 

That thus the tear-drops start ? 
Think'st thou of him, the worshiped one 

In every soldier's heart ? 
One throne he built dissolved as ice 

Before a fiery flame ; 
But one endureth evermore. 

While France repeats his name ! 



LINES. 339 

One throne he built, but bnilt of chiy ; 

It sank beneath his weight, 
And kings and emperors looked on. 

With mingled fear and hate ; 
But one he built of adamant, 

Within each Frenchman's heart; — 
France ! he was thine, and thou wert his, 

Not to be named apart ! 

Vive I'Empereur ! Fran9ais, the cry 

Has often met thine ear, 
To be re-echoed by a host 

Of hearts that held him dear ; 
" Vive FEmpereur ! " the old glad cry 

Hath now a sound of woe ; 
Thou think'st of what he was, and now 

Thy hot eyes overflow. 

Once more Marengo's glorious field 

Is peopled for thine eyes ; 
Again the sun of Austerlitz 

On other fields doth rise. 
And Jena's crimson eye is red 

As Borodino's sun ; — 
Thou hear'st the once familiar shout, 

" Once more his star has won ! " 

But for a moment ! from thy brow, 

Fadeth the transient suiile. 
And thou dost turn, with a bursting heart, 

To think of St. Helen's isle! 



340 



LINES. 



Vieiix soldat ! well thine eye may glow 

Witli pride and gloom, 
Napoleon's glory, dimmed within thy heart, 

Blends with the exile's tomb. 



THE ATHEIST. 

" There is no Grod ! " All nature sighed with 
terror, 

When first these words fell on her startled ear; 
The dark green forests heard the willful error, 

And whispered to each other words of fear ! 
The skies were clear, there spoke no Yoice of thunder, 

Yet the sun blushed, indignant at the wrong ; 
The wild-rose hid her head her green leaves under. 

And thought of Him who nourished her so long. 

"There is no G-od ! " Go ye who heard the story — 

Eepeat it not, but cast an upward glance 
Unto the stars arrayed in all their glory ; 

Then ask yourselves, Could they be made by 
chance ? 
The thousand, thousand gems that nightly cluster 

Upon the brow of night, children of love, 
Upon us look, with stronger, brighter luster, 

And answer " No! " from their high homes above. 

Go ye, who heard it, to the dark blue ocean ; 

Watch the strong waves that move for good or 
ill; 
Then think, if thou canst do it, without emotion. 

Of Him who said unto them. " Peace, be still! " 



342 THE ATHEIST. 

Mark the wild billows, dashing madly onward, 
Whelming- thy fellow-men beneath their waves ; 

Then ask if these shall sleep, when sunken down- 
ward, 
Forever, in the sea-god's hidden caves I 

Go to yon widow : she is worn and weary, 

Neglected, ignorant, and very old ; 
The world to her had been a desert dreary. 

Had she not treasures richer far than gold. 
Her friends are dead, her children gone before her; 

Whence comes her consolation, whence her 
strength ? 
See! she looks meekly to the azure o'er her, — 

There she will meet them all, in bUss, at length. 

Go, lastly, to thy gifted fellow-being; 

Ask him who breathed through darkened clay a 
light; 
Bid him remember that the eye All-Seeing 

Is fixed upon him, that he answer right. 
Bid him remember that the Book of heaven 

Records each word as soon as it is thought ; 
Then ask him if by chance the soul was given, 

And surely he will answer, " It is not." 

No, it is not ! the boundless aspirations, 
The splendid ideas that the soul drinks in, 

The thirst for knowledge, and the free oblations 
That Truth demands, forbid the love of sin. 



THE ATHEIST. 343 

These, these alone, should teach us the foundation 
Our faith is built on, for a glorious crown : 

Shame on the man that, with the brute creation. 
Would level mind, and drag the spirit down ! 




I WOULD BE FREE. 

I WOULD be free ! thou G-od of earth and heaven, 
Who didst not make the high immortal soul 

To sink beneath the storm-clouds earthward driven. 
The clouds of darkness that around us roll. 

! in our brightest days of early promise, 

A warning voice bids slumbering joy depart ; 
A cold, strong grasp tears every blossom from us, 
A cold, dead hand is laid upon each heart. 

1 would be free! I would throw off the mountain 
Of weariness that would my spirit break, 

And upward spring, e'en as a free-born fountain 
Springs to the music that its murmurs make. 

Sad thoughts should be but as the little pebbles, 
Soon, though reluctant, swept far out of view, 

While the glad waves dash o'er the simple rebels, 
Shouting Avith laughter, and with triumph too. 

I would be free ! earth must not play the tyrant, 
Nor make one thought of mine bow to its sway ; 

My soul would mount above, a calm aspirant, 
Flinging its leaden shackles all away. 



LINES TO MISS HINKSOK 345 

Passions should have no language ; deeply lettered 
Upon my heart their characters have been ; 

They should go forth, by silence strongly fettered, 
Their fire to earth, their ashes to the wind. 

Their fire to earth! aye, lie ye there and smoul- 
der! 
None, none haye known the heart from which 
ye came ; 
None, none shall know the thoughts that with you 
moulder 
Fast into embers, that were once a flame. 
Go, ashes, to the air ! fast, fast, and scatter ! 

Ye covered long my spirit's brightness o'er; 
Winds, take them where ye list ! it does not matter; 
I care not where, so they return no more ! 



LINES TO MISS HINKSOK 



FOR AN" ALBUM. 



My friend, mid the gentle, the chosen, the few, 
The loved and the loving, the dear ones and 
true, 
15* 



346 LIXES TO MISS HIXESON. 

Whose names, traced before mine, pledge friendship 
and love, 

Pure, ardent, and warm, from the fountain 
above ; 

Love, tender and truthful, with flowers inter- 
wrought, 

Best offering of friendship, the bright flowers of 
thought ; 

Mid the verse of the poet, the scholars' array, 

Thou hast left me a blank to fill up as I may. 

Thou hast left it, for me to fill up as I may. 

With the warm words of feeling, or dull words of 

clay ; 
Thou hast left me a leaf, to be filled with the 

thought, 
The rose- thought of fancy, with dreaminess fraught. 
Yet the soul, when it dreams of the warm, absent 

heart. 
Will scarce in the dullness of earth take a part. 
But up, soaring upward, through shadow and 

storm, 
Find its home but in feelings impassioned and 

warm. 

Heart answers heart-music ; the deep prison-cell 
Hath its inmates, for sorrows enough in it dwell ; 
Yet memory there hath its music, and hears 
The loved tones of friends of its earlier vears: 



LIXES TO MISS Hn^SON. 347 

And freed from the dungeon, the fetter, the chain^ 
The prisoner lives in his childhood again ; 
And sees, as his fancies its glad days recall, 
The sunshine of haj)piness resting on all. 

So may'st thou, when parted by time and by space, 
From the friends of thy youth, and thy dear 

native place, 
To cheer thee, in sorrow and sadness and pain. 
Find that heart ever answers heart-music again. 
Let memory, loving the themes of the past. 
Tell that friends who then loved thee will love to the 

last ; 
So that when thine eyes here on their offerings 

fall. 
The warm smile of friendship may shine over all. 



THE e:n^d. 



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W!f. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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